


Oh where do we begin

by steveandbucky



Series: in any version of reality [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Domestic, Drinking, Drunkenness, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hate to Love, Humour, Living Together, Love/Hate, Lust at First Sight, M/M, POV Third Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveandbucky/pseuds/steveandbucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halfway through his third year of college, Steve Rogers rents out the spare room in his apartment to make living close to campus more affordable. At first sight his new roommate, Bucky Barnes, seems to be the stuff dreams are made of, but living together turns out to be a nightmare, and the academic year is a lot more adventurous than either of them expected, as they slowly turn from enemies to friends to lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- Trigger warning for alcohol use/abuse, PTSD, nightmares, anxiety attacks, grief/mourning. **Disclaimer** : I have never experienced PTSD myself, and all my knowledge about this disorder (and other mental illnesses) comes from my BSc in Psychology & any research I have done in my own time. While writing this, I tried to keep in mind that mental illnesses are experienced differently by different individuals so there's only so much you can know by reading textbooks and journal articles. I'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies, and I hope I don't offend anyone.
> 
> \- Big thanks to [lucii](http://beardysteve.tumblr.com) for helping me kickstart this and to [maram](http://sebkisses.tumblr.com) for supporting me cheering me on, and also to [dena](http://stevegrntrogers.tumblr.com/) for helping with ideas, beta'ing, as well as giving motivational speeches when i was ready to give up! <3
> 
> \- Thank you for leaving kudos & feedback, I immensely appreciate them! :)

****

 

Steve hears the doorbell as soon as he turns off the shower tap, and judging by the sound of three consecutive rings, whoever is at the door is impatient. He tries to think whether he’s expecting someone, maybe a parcel delivery or if Sam has decided to drop by unexpectedly, as he jumps out of the bathtub and grabs the first towel within reach, wrapping it around his waist. He jogs to the front door barefoot and looks through the peephole quickly before half-opening the door.

“Hey, um, can I help you?” He’s trying to hide himself behind the door, with one hand on the handle and another holding the towel in place.

The guy pushes his sunglasses above to rest on his head. “I’m Bucky, I’m here for the viewing?” He says as he very indiscreetly looks at Steve, his eyes travelling from top to bottom, and then meeting his gaze.

“Oh, shit, I forgot about it.” Steve breathes out. He steps back and opens the door, allowing Bucky to step inside. “Um, give me a minute – I’ll put some clothes on.”

Bucky makes a quiet humming sound in response and doesn’t take his eyes off Steve until the blond man disappears down the hall and into his bedroom. He then turns around and starts walking around the apartment, casually glancing around, and settles on the living room sofa.

When Steve reappears, fully clothed, Bucky grins at him. “I think I liked your previous look better.”

“Um,” Steve stutters. Did he hear right? He can’t have heard right. “I can show you your room?”

Bucky follows him into the spare bedroom, where there’s a double bed in the middle of the room, a desk in the corner and large windows on the west wall. Steve looks at Bucky while he examines the room, really looks at him – at the curl of his eyelashes, the rough stubble on his chin, his sharp cheekbones and mouth so pink it’s almost sinful. _Well, shit._

Bucky nods approvingly. “I think it’ll do,”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, hoping Bucky won’t notice that he sounds hopeful. It’s not like he has a particular interest in Bucky becoming his new roommate, he tells himself, even if it wouldn’t hurt for his new roommate to be really cute and totally bang-able. It’s just that finding a new roommate has been a nightmare.

“Yeah,” Bucky grins again and Steve thinks, _shit, shit, shit_ , but manages to smile back. “I mean…” Bucky pauses, looking thoughtful for a second. “It’s close to campus and all the appartments I’ve looked at so far were absolutely shit, so,”

Steve nods in agreement. “Well then, great.”

Steve gives Bucky a quick tour of the apartment, tells him about the neighbourhood, and they go over rent and bill payments and the legal documents that need to be sorted out.

“So when can I move in?”

“As soon as possible,” Steve blurts out instantly. He cringes at himself and starts blushing when Bucky looking amused. “I mean, as soon as you want,”

“Okay,” Bucky says with a laugh, and Steve feels something flutter in his stomach. Bucky grabs the jacket he’d thrown over the armchair and the stack of paperwork Steve had handed him and makes for the door. “I’ll, err, I’ll let you know about the moving in.” He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and looks back at Steve. “I’ll try to make it ASAP.” He says with a wink and disappears out of the door.

Steve rubs his face with both hands. He is so, so screwed.

 

~~~

 

He tries to distract himself for the next few hours; he makes dinner, works on his latest commission painting, then picks up his phone and decides to text Natasha.

_“Think I found a new roommate”_

His phone beeps within minutes.

_“Yay :)”_

_“Think I might be crushing on said new roommate”_

Steve curses to himself when his phone starts ringing. “You have something against texting?”

“Nope,” Natasha sounds like she’s trying to stifle a laugh. “Tell me about her.”

“It’s a guy.”

He knows she’s rolled her eyes. “Okay, tell me about _him_. Does he have eyes so blue they’re like the ocean and an ass so heavenly that-”

Steve bites his bottom lip. “You know what, forget about it. What was I thinking telling you about it?”

“Aww, Steve, you know I’m joking. And you did good by telling me, I need to keep track of your love life otherwise I’d go about trying to set you up with people while you’re in your new roommates bed doing-”

“Bye, Natasha.”

He doesn’t even feel bad about hanging up on her, and especially not when he gets a text 2 seconds later which says, _“Pepper (and I) want pictures :)”_

 

~~~

 

Bucky moves in two weeks later, and brings surprisingly too few boxes for a student. Steve tries not to stare at Bucky’s ass as he helps him carry the boxes up the stairs to their fourth floor apartment. At the end of the day, there’s a couple of small boxes in the living room and one in the kitchen, and the rest are in Bucky’s room, along with his suitcase.

Bucky shrugs out of his coat and pulls his beanie hat off, hanging them both by the rack near the door, and runs a gloved hand through his longish hair, smoothing it back. He walks around in the living room, looks out the windows for a moment, and wanders through to the kitchen and abruptly stops.

Steve emerges from behind the door of the fridge with his hands full. He smiles slightly when he meets Bucky’s eye. “I’m making BLTs for lunch,” he says as explanation. “Do you want some?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’ll go buy some food. Almost forgot about that.”

“It’s fine, you can just raid the fridge if you want and-”

“Nah,” Bucky’s already heading for the door.

Steve stands and watches him walk away with a jar of mayonnaise in his hands and dumbfounded expression on his face. Part of him thinks maybe his offer offended Bucky, and another part thinks that’s dumb and it’s just the guy is acting a little strangely. He shakes the thoughts out of his head and focuses on his lunch instead, but still makes an extra sandwich and leaves it on the middle drawer in the fridge, which as agreed is the shared foods (the top drawer is his, the bottom is Bucky’s, and everything else would be assumed to be shared unless they wrote their names on the food.)

He’s stretched out on the living room couch and deeply engrossed in his Sociology textbook when Bucky returns hours later, leaves his grocery bags on the kitchen counter, says a ‘hi’ as he passes through the living room and heads straight for his room, closing the door behind him.

Steve sighs, thinking that there’s definitely something off about Bucky’s behaviour, but instead of overthinking it, he grits his teeth and focuses on the chapter about social movements. He finds himself having to re-read the same sentence more than once, and his eyelids feel heavy, closing on their own accord before he forces them open and focuses on the text again. Sleep wins over and he drifts off with the book against his chest, and wakes up to find it on the coffee table, and a thin blanket draped over him instead. Steve reaches for his phone and groans when he sees it’s midnight, and he’d accidentally taken a five hour nap. _Great._

He yawns loudly as he wanders barefoot to the kitchen, flips on the light switch and finds that he’s not alone in the room.

“Oh,” he mumbles. He rubs at his eyes for a moment and when his vision focuses he blurts out another quiet “Oh,”

Bucky’s sitting at the counter, shirtless and with his back facing Steve. His shoulders are clenched, and his hand has stopped mid-air with a spoonful of cereal. Steve finds himself speechless as his eyes trace the delicate metal plates along the bionic arm which is attached to Bucky’s left shoulder, examining the scarred skin where flesh meets metal, watching the slight twitch of his metal fingers.

Bucky turns his head slightly, catching a glimpse of Steve from the corner of his eye. “You want something?” He says in a hostile tone.

Steve snaps out of it, realising that Bucky had caught him staring and shit, this was bad. “Sorry,” he averts his eyes to the floor and doesn’t look up as he walks to get himself a glass of water. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he looks up and meet’s Bucky’s icy, emotionless gaze. Steve tries to speak again but stutters and fails.

Bucky rolls his eyes, gets up and walks to his bedroom, closing the door behind him with a rather loud bang.

Steve slams a balled-up fist against the counter and marches after his roommate.

Bucky opens the door after the third knock. “You don’t have to apologise again,” he says and goes to close the door again but Steve puts his hand on it, stopping him.

“Listen.” Steve grits his teeth. “I know you think I was staring out of revulsion or whatever, but it’s not that.”

“Really,” Bucky says dryly.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” Steve continues, despite feeling that he’s not being taken seriously. “I was just… admiring, I suppose, because I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A tiny smile curls the corners of Bucky’s mouth. “Okay.” he says, sounding much kinder than before. “Goodnight.”

The bedroom door closes in his face – admittedly, with a much gentler sound than earlier – but Steve still feels irritated. He doesn’t know why, because after all, he was the one who acted like a moron, and what did he expect would happen, anyway? He lets out a groan, mostly directed at himself, and heads to the living room, picking up the TV remote and ignoring his sociology textbook altogether.

 

~~~

 

Natasha casually suggests that he finds another roommate as she steals one of Steve’s French fries.

The blond shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t wanna do that.”

“Because his ass is heavenly?”

He gives her a look. “It’s not like he’s a bad roommate, it’s just that he seems to hate me.”

She laughs and steals another French fry, while picking up her buzzing phone and quickly replying to her new text message. “You know what they say about love and hate.” she says, and grins when Steve gives her another exasperated look. It’s _too_ easy to get him riled up.

“It’s really not like that,” Steve pokes at his burger, suddenly finding that he’s lost his appetite. “I just can’t figure out why he’d hate me.”

Natasha looks at him like she doesn’t believe him, like she can almost hear the tiny voice of Steve’s guilty conscience.

He feels his face heat up. “Okay, maybe I know why, but it’s a misunderstanding, honestly.”

Steve doesn’t elaborate, and a long moment of silence falls between them, which is abruptly broken when Sam joins them, places a hand on each of their shoulders and grins ear to ear. “Guess who aced his Political Science paper,”

Steve smiles, but barely. He’d messed up that particular assignment so badly. “Congrats, Sam,”

“I should hope you did,” Natasha returns a hearty smile, but her voice has a teasing edge to it. “You practically lived in the library for two weeks.”

Sam shrugs as he takes a seat at the table. He picks up Steve’s burger to finish it off, which makes Steve complain about his food being stolen all the time by the two of them. “You can make it up to me by buying me a milkshake,” Sam retorts.

Steve rolls his eyes but Natasha laughs, and the previous subject is forgotten, as Sam starts rambling about his ‘kick-ass paper’ and his plans to go out for celebratory drinks that night.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your comments they're greatly appreciated! here's the next chapter :)

****

****

“I hate my roommate.” Steve announces in a firm, matter-of-fact tone of voice as he sits across from Sam at their usual corner table.

Sam merely sips his white chocolate mocha. “This the same guy you wanted to jump a couple of weeks ago?”

The blond glares at him. “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’s going on?”

“He’s the worst,” Steve sounds exasperated. “He’s loud, his music is loud _and_ terrible, he never cleans up, and he eats my food. I’m done with him.” He says, and when Sam gives him a look – the ‘cut the crap’ look – he sighs and looks outside the window, watching the people rushing along on the sidewalk for a minute before he speaks up again. “He had some girl over last night, and they were in the living room and-”

Sam smirks. “And you got jealous?”

“He broke my lamp.” He says curtly. Sam doesn’t say anything, so Steve clears his throat before continuing. “The blue one.” He pauses, swallows. “My mum’s lamp.”

Sam puts his mug down, and his expression softens. “What happened?”

Steve’s fingers tighten around his mug, his grip just short of breaking it with his bare hand. “I snapped at him, and we got into a whole argument.” He shuts his eyes tightly, feeling a tinge of regret over his reaction. “He didn’t even tell me about it, I mean-”

“Steve, it’s okay,” Sam says in his gentlest voice. Steve shakes his head, trying to think of ways to change the subject when Natasha takes the empty seat at their table all of a sudden.

“Hello, boys,” she says in greeting. “Whatever plans you have next Saturday, cancel them. The girls and I are throwing a party at our place for Pepper’s birthday.”

Sam and Steve share a look, pretending to consider the invitation. “Free booze?” asks Steve.

Natasha snorts. “Not for you. I’d need an entire trust fund just to get you tipsy.”

They laugh, and the conversation flows easily between the three of them, shifting from one topic to the next, and for the next few hours Steve forgets about the heavy feeling in his stomach and the anxious twitch in his fingers.

His hands start shaking when he tries unlocking his apartment door later in the evening; he’s rehearsed an apology in his head on the walk home because he knows deep down that he did act like a dick, even if his behaviour was somewhat justified. He opens the door silently and takes a deep breath, and is greeted with delicious smells of something cooking in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Bucky glances at him briefly when Steve walks in the kitchen, and then turns his attention back to the pan on the stovetop. “I made pasta, if you want some.”

Bucky stirs the sauce with a wooden spoon and tastes it, then adds more salt to it. When Steve doesn’t respond, he turns to look at him again, but barely meets his gaze. “I was gonna make meatballs but there was no meat, so it’s just tomato sauce.”

Steve breathes out and nods. “Sounds good,”

He turns and walks towards his room, and takes off his jacket and scarf on the way, hanging it on the hooks by the door. He still feels too stuffy in the warmth of the apartment, so he changes into a t-shirt and a thin pair of sweatpants, and by the time he goes back to the kitchen he sees that Bucky’s already plated his food and disappeared into his room.

 _So much for grownup conversations and proper apologies_ , Steve thinks as he puts some pasta and sauce in a bowl and eats his dinner while going over his next day’s schedule.

 

~~~

 

After a few weeks of co-habitation – and the episodes Steve refers to as the Metal Arm Incident and the Blue Lamp Incident – things have taken a turn for the worse rather than getting better.

Initially, Steve had thought that they might hit it off, maybe become friends, or in the very least, be able to live in the same apartment without arguing about this and that all the time. One problem came after the other; first it was Steve telling Bucky off about eating his strawberry yoghurts, then it was Bucky who was grumbling about Steve finishing the milk and not buying another one, then Steve yelling at him to turn his music down at two in the morning, and then again Bucky having a fit about Steve using his shampoo without asking.

Steve found it harder and harder to put up with Bucky’s behaviour, especially since Bucky usually mumbled a half-assed apology and continued doing what he was doing, barely acknowledging Steve’s annoyance. It was driving Steve up the wall, and he found himself – well, not _retaliating_ , exactly, but being a little less considerate, reasoning that it was only fair since he wasn’t getting the same respect from his roommate.

Mostly, though, he tried to ignore his friends when they keep telling him ‘You’re both acting like children,’ and ‘Get your heads out of your asses,’ and the worst one of all – ‘Get yourself a new roommate already.’

“You know, I kinda thought you were a nice guy,” Bucky tells him late in the evening one day, when they cross paths in the kitchen.

“Really,” Steve replies dryly while he stirs a spoonful of honey into his chamomile tea. That morning they’d been arguing about whose turn it was to take out the rubbish, and Steve didn’t feel like talking to his roommate about anything at all after that.

“Yeah, when I first met you.” Bucky runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

Steve snorts a laugh.

It irritates Bucky. “Do you have a problem with me or was I wrong and you’re just a jerk?” he snaps.

Steve turns around to face him, and he wants to say yes, he does, he has a lot of problems – but he’s at a loss for words. Bucky’s shirtless again. They lock eyes for a moment, before Steve’s eyes dart to the man’s scarred shoulder and down the length of his mechanical arm. Then they take in the rest of him, with his broad chest and chiselled abdomen, the drawstring sweatpants hanging low on his hips; Steve thinks he’d be _swooning_ if he didn’t find the person the body belonged to so annoying.

His mind travels back a couple of weeks, another time when Bucky had caught him staring again and he’d ended up offending the man again – for the second time in the span of two days, no less.

_“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Bucky had rolled his eyes. “Is this it?” he’d raised his left arm and waggled his fingers. “Does it actually bother you? Because I remember you telling me differently.”_

_“I wasn’t – I just-” Steve had stuttered awkwardly._

_Bucky had been glaring at him._

_Steve had sighed, mumbled “Why on earth would it bother me,” somewhat incoherently. He’d looked Bucky straight in the eye and asked in soft voice. “I just wanted to ask – if you don’t mind… How did it happen?”_

_Bucky hadn’t met him in the eye when he’d said, “Car accident,” and then mumbled an excuse before excusing himself to his bedroom._

Steve snaps back to the present when Bucky starts clicking his fingers in front of his face. “I don’t have a problem with you.” he says finally, part of him hoping that maybe they can talk things over and resolve the feud that’s been going on between them. “I honestly don’t.”

Bucky crosses his arms against his chest. “So you’re just a jerk,” he smirks.

Steve’s jaw clenches as his brain scrambles for a clever retort. “You know what?”

“What?” Bucky’s grin is amused and it pisses Steve off even more. It doesn’t register with him that Bucky is teasing him in a friendly manner.

“I _am_ a nice person, okay? You’re the… the dumbass who keeps leaving his plates everywhere.”

“Aw, not this shit again.”

Steve follows him into the living room. “I’m sorry, didn’t you see the state of the kitchen last Friday? At _least_ throw away the leftovers in the plates before piling them higher than the Empire State Building.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Bucky rolls his eyes and stretches out on the couch. “Wake me up when you’re done whining,” he says, faking a yawn, and Steve doesn’t say another word, simply marches out of the room angrily.

It’s too easy to get him riled up, Bucky thinks as he chuckles to himself.

 

~~~

 

Bucky is banging on the bathroom door, shouting at Steve to hurry up and finish, but after the day he’s had, Steve can’t bring himself to care about it much. His whole body is submerged in the steaming hot water that fills the bathtub; and sure, he’s too tall to fit comfortably in the tub and his feet are sticking out, but the lavender scented candles are relaxing him into oblivion.

“Will you fucking get out already?” Bucky slams his fist on the door one more time, and after that Steve can hear his footsteps retreating into his bedroom.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, cringing at the feeling of his wrinkly fingers against his skin and decides to get out and dry himself. When he steps out of the bathroom, he finds Bucky leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway, glaring at him.

“Sorry,” Steve breathes out, and even he knows it doesn’t sound sincere.

“Whatever, princess,” Bucky’s glare hardens. “Would be too much effort to be more considerate, wouldn’t it?”

Steve groans. “I don’t have time for this.”

“But you do have the time for a half hour luxury bath?”

He doesn’t even think about it, he raises his hand and flips Bucky off as he walks away and disappears into his room. A tiny part of him feels bad, but not so much that it’s willing to put up with Bucky’s childish complaining.

There’s a loud bang as the bathroom door slams shut and Bucky’s voice shouting, “You used up all the hot water, you ass!”

Steve opens his door and pokes his head out, a smirk on his face as he calmly replies, “Oops.”

When he gets dressed and strolls in the living room, he finds Bucky taking up most of the sofa which would normally annoy him, but he flops on the armchair with a content sigh and turns on the television.

“Do you mind?” Bucky asks him, irritation evident in his voice. “I’m trying to work on something here,” he says, gesturing at the mess of books and papers around him.

“That’s what libraries are for.”

“I can’t concentrate in libraries.”

Steve shrugs. “Your _private_ bedroom, then?”

Bucky glares at him so hard it makes Steve think the man’s eyes are about to pop out of their sockets. “You’re such a fucking jerk,”

Steve flips between the channels and settles on the cartoon network. He doesn’t say anything else, and Bucky abandons his coursework, and instead gets up and leaves the apartment, texting someone on his way out to meet him for drinks at their usual bar.

 

~~~

 

The next morning, Steve finds a stranger sleeping on the living room couch.

He stands frozen in his spot when he walks in and sees the half-naked, blond-haired man sprawled on the couch and snoring lightly. Steve panics, realising he’s in his pyjamas and still only half awake, then grabs one of Bucky’s boots which is near the front door and tiptoes down the hallway.

Bucky opens his bedroom door after four knocks, looking disoriented and with his shoulder-length dark hair sticking up every which way. “What,” he grumbles sleepily. His attention drifts to the object in Steve’s hands and he frowns.

“There’s a stranger in the living room,” Steve whispers. “Keep your voice down, he’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him up.”

Bucky groans. He picks up a hoodie and pulls it over his head as he walks to the living room. “Aw, hell,” he groans again. “Barton!” he yells at the man.

“You _know_ this guy?!”

Bucky rolls his eyes at Steve’s incredulous expression. He walks over and starts nudging the man roughly. “Get up, Clint, or I’m gonna drag your ass out of here.”

The stranger named Clint Barton rolls over and blinks one eye open. He mumbles something incoherent and then turns his back against Bucky and goes back to sleep.

“Aw, shit, we’ll never get rid of him now.”

Steve follows Bucky into the kitchen. “Do you want to maybe explain?”

Bucky shrugs. “He must’ve followed me home last night,” He cracks an amused grin. “Relax, he’s harmless.”

“Are you friends with him?”

“Yeah,”

“So when you said he followed you…?”

Bucky sighs. “I was drunk out of my mind,” he mumbles. “Probably wanted to make sure I got home safe and then ended up crashing here.”

Steve looks surprised at the cup of coffee he’s being offered. He hesitates for a moment before accepting it.

“What’re you so troubled about?” Bucky asks as he pours himself a cup too.

Steve’s frown deepens. He wants to tell Bucky that he’s been there, he’s drunk himself stupid one too many times and wants to ask what is he drinking about, but he gets defensive instead. “I _did_ just wake up to find a stranger on my couch. That happen to you, I’m sure you’d be a little troubled too.”

Bucky chuckles. He picks up his coffee and claps Steve on the shoulder. “Buddy, I’ve survived a lot worse.” he says, a slight hint of self-depreciation in his voice, and walks out of there while Steve bites his tongue in an effort to stop himself from telling Bucky that they’re not ‘buddies’.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> major thanks to [stevegrntrogers](http://stevegrntrogers.tumblr.com/) for the beta for this chapter :)
> 
> and thanks to everyone for leaving me kudos and comments! :)
> 
> also as a warning, this chapter contains very minor steve/another so heads up if you mind that sort of thing (although its only a small scene and not important at all)

****

 

Saturday evening finds Steve alone in the corner of the living room, save his paints, his canvasses, and a blissful silence. He sighs and stretches his arms behind him, then rolls his shoulders before he picks up the paintbrush, filling in a blank spot on the picture with blue and white paint. He’s been working all day on this particular commission, having realised that the delivery deadline was fast approaching and he’d neglected his commissions in favour of his own personal paintings that he did as way of relaxing after finishing his college assignments.

Steve stands a few feet away from the painting to examine his work, and smiles to himself, satisfied that for once he’s doing a good job with watercolours and the picture of autumn trees reflected in the river is coming together nicely.

His cell phone beeps and Steve jumps up a little as he snaps out of his thoughts. The message is from Sam, saying that he’s gonna meet Steve at the bus stop in ten minutes and Steve’s eyes widen as he realises he’d got too lost in his painting and lost track of time. He takes a fast shower while mentally picking out an outfit (deciding on black trousers and his blue denim shirt). He hurriedly dresses and doesn’t even try to clean up the mess he’d made in the living room, quickly grabbing his phone, keys and wallet and rushing to meet Sam.

“You’re late.” Sam glares at him when Steve gets to their meeting point.

“I know,” Steve manages to say even though he’s breathless. “I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “We’ve missed the last bus,” he pulls out his phone and dials for a taxi. “So you’re paying for our taxi.”

Steve huffs a laugh but he can’t argue against it. They get to the apartment where Natasha lives with her roommates Pepper and Sharon a little later than planned, but Steve argues that it’s called being fashionably late. Sam ignores him and goes to get himself a drink.

“Steve!” Pepper finds him in the crowded apartment soon after his arrival. “I’m so glad you came,”

Steve tries not to blush when she kisses him on the cheek, even though he knows the gesture is completely platonic. “Of course.” He says as they break the embrace. “Happy birthday, Pepper. May you outlive us all.”

“Nuh uh, not me,” Sam appears with two drinks in his hands, one of which he hands to Steve. “I’m planning to live until I’m 150.”

Pepper snorts a laugh. “You survive on pizza and donuts, I’m sorry but I can’t really see that happening.” She smirks and Steve nods, agreeing.

“Pfft,” Sam waves a hand dismissively. He cracks a charming grin and hugs Pepper, wishing her happy birthday.

Pepper goes to greet the newly arrived guests and Sam finds someone he knows from his European History class and Steve is left to awkwardly mingle in the crowded living room. There are only a handful of people he knows well enough to chat with. He walks by Pepper’s boyfriend, Tony, who’s in the middle of telling a story to a group of people, who stops and grabs him by the elbow and tells him to stay for the after party. Sharon finds him in the kitchen and makes small talk about their common classes before someone Steve doesn’t recognise drags her elsewhere. Sam finds him at some point by the drinks table, fills up two cups and tells him about the girl he’s chatting up before disappearing again. A while later, Steve comes across a man with straw-blond hair sitting on the couch and finishing off the pizza in one of the boxes.

“Hey!” he exclaims when he sees Steve, gesturing for him to join him on the couch. “Hey, what’s up? You want pizza?”

“Um, hi,” Steve is still trying to figure out where he knows the guy from.

“I’m Clint, the guy who crashed on your couch last weekend.” Clint says like he’s read Steve’s mind and extends his hand.

Steve shakes the man’s hand and takes a seat next to him. “Sorry, I couldn’t place you.”

“It’s fine,” Clint waves a hand dismissively and offers Steve a slice of pizza, which Steve happily accepts because his stomach grumbles at the sight and he remembers he hasn’t eaten since that morning.

“Hope you’re not mad at me for that, by the way,” Clint rambles on. He puts the empty pizza box under the full ones and licks the grease off his fingers lazily. Natasha walks by and makes a face at him, telling him to stop being gross, but Clint just grins at her before turning to Steve again. “It’s just that I didn’t want to leave that idiot alone.”

“No, it’s fine, I understand.”

“Who knows what sort of trouble he might have got into.”

Steve nods as he takes a sip of his cold beer and focuses on the bitter taste in his mouth instead of the curious questions in his head. Someone coughs loudly and Steve looks up to see that all of a sudden, Bucky has appeared in front of them.

“Oh,” Steve’s eyes widen in surprise. “Hey,”

Bucky nods a hello to Steve and shoots a glare in Clint’s direction. Clint shrugs in response and Bucky curses under his breath before he takes off, heading towards the drinks table. Clint gets up, puts a few slices of pizza on a plate, and follows Bucky; he takes the plastic cup from the brunet’s hands, shoving the plastic plate there instead.

Natasha takes a seat on the couch next to Steve. “We’re going to Eclipse soon, you coming?” she says, popping a Dorito into her mouth.

He ignores her question. “What’s he doing here?” he asks. Natasha follows his gaze and frowns.

“Who, Clint?” she asks. “I met him in first year, we’re friends.”

“No, the guy next to him, Bucky.”

“ _That’s_ him?” she gapes. “That’s weird. I know him as James.” She mumbles to herself then turns to grin at Steve. “That’s the guy you’re crushing on?”

Steve shoots her a glare.

“Oh, right. I forgot you guys hate each other now.” Natasha reaches for another dorito. “Anyway, he tagged along with Clint I guess. Don’t tell me it bothers you.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “But if it does, find a way to get over it.”

Steve laughs and she smiles before getting up and heading towards the iPod dock. Suddenly the music stops, and after a moment the noise of the chatters quiets down. Pepper stands in the middle of the room and everyone turns to look at her, while she thanks everyone for attending and announces that the party is moving to the nightclub named Eclipse downtown.  

 

~~~

The bartender is an attractive man, with long blond hair that have a small braid on the one side and broad shoulders paired with strong arms that make Steve think the guy could effortlessly pick him up. He winks playfully as he serves up Steve’s third (overall, sixth) drink of the night, and says ‘Enjoy’ in that deep, velvety voice of his. Steve can’t bite back the bashful smile that grows on his lips.

“Thanks,” he mouths and the guy - _Thor_ , as his name tag reads - smiles back before turning his attention to other customers.

Steve’s happily buzzing at this point, feeling slightly lightheaded, though he thinks that’s probably not entirely the alcohol’s effects. It’s a pleasant distraction from the party that’s going on behind him, where there’s too many people packed in the club and the music is so loud he has to lean over the bar when ordering drinks. (Not that he minds one bit – the guy even _smells_ good, damn him.)

Someone squeezes in the small space between the bar stools next to him, and Steve gets a waft of heavy perfume that makes his stomach turn. He finishes his drink and makes his way through the crowd, slips out of the grip of someone who invites him to dance, and heads outside through the side entrance door.

The cold air clears his head as he takes a few deep breaths and he thinks maybe he should call it a night, cute bartender or not. He turns around to go back in, but the door swings open and out comes Clint with Bucky’s arm around his shoulder, dragging him outside.

“Oh, hey, Steve,” Clint greets him, sounding much less cheerful than he did earlier. He puts Bucky against the wall, orders him to stay put and goes to head back inside but pauses with his hand on the door handle.

“Watch him for a sec, will ya?” he tells Steve before heading back.

Steve nods absentmindedly. Bucky grumbles in protest, tries to walk away, but he sways drunkenly and tries to balance himself against the wall again. His knees give out and he sinks to the ground instead.

“You okay?” Steve blurts out before realising what a dumb question it is. Bucky is clearly _not_ okay.

“’M fine,” Bucky mumbles almost incoherently.

Steve paces around him rather awkwardly, unsure why Clint had left the man under his supervision when he himself was a little intoxicated – but at least he could stand on his two feet and wasn’t falling asleep slouched against the wall outside a club. He realises his stomach is still uneasy, but something different this time, the kind of nervous feeling he gets when he thinks something bad is about to happen.

“Taxi will be here soon,” Clint says when he comes back outside. “Buck, wake up.” He nudges the brunet forcefully. “I’m taking you home, you hear?”

“You _wish_ ,” Bucky giggles and Clint rolls his eyes.                             

“Dumb fuck.”

They wait in silence for a few moments, with Bucky still nodding off, Clint leaning against the wall next to him, and Steve shuffling from foot to foot.

“Mind if I tag along?” he asks Clint. “Was about to head home anyway.”

Clint shrugs. “Could use the help to drag his sorry ass up to your place.”

Steve gives him a curt nod, heads back inside to pay for his drinks and says goodbye to Pepper and Natasha before heading out again.

The taxi ride home is not long seen as the streets are mostly empty in the early morning hours, and they sling each of Bucky’s arm on their shoulders and make their way upstairs, while Bucky keeps protesting that he doesn’t need their help, but doesn’t have enough energy to do much about it. Clint pulls out the keys from Bucky’s pocket and unlocks the door and Steve follows Bucky as he stumbles all the way to his bedroom, falling on his bed with a loud groan. He squints up at Steve and extends his arm, flailing it around slightly.

“What is it?” Steve stoops down when he asks the question.

Bucky looks at him quizzically for a moment, almost studying him. The corners of his mouth curl slightly. “Your eyes are really blue,” he mumbles before he rolls over and drifts off.

Steve straightens up, mouth agape, and stares at the man on the bed for a moment before he hurries out of the room. In the kitchen, Clint has poured two glasses of water and is sitting with his head against the table.

“Um,” Steve mumbles. “I think he passed out,”

“Good,” Clint sits up straight and rubs his face with both hands. “He’ll sleep it off.” He says as he gets up and grabs his jacket and phone.

Steve walks him to the door out of politeness more than anything else. “’Night,”

“’Night, Steve,” Clint says wearily as he heads out.

Steve collapses on the sofa. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he thinks back to a time, not too long ago, where he was the drunken mess and Sam was the one who dragged Steve home after he’d had too many drinks. Steve pulls out his phone and sends a shameful text apologising for his behaviour and drifts off while waiting for a reply.

He wakes up with a dry mouth and no recollection of how he ended up falling asleep on the couch, or why Bucky is asleep on the rug near the couch, curled around his pillow. It’s too bright in the living room, where there are no heavy curtains to keep the early March sunlight out and Steve groans as soon as he gets up, bringing his hands to press into his temples as way of stopping the pressure of his throbbing headache.

Steve’s flipping the third piece of French toast when he hears someone’s footsteps running towards the bathroom and loud retching noises, which would normally ruin his appetite. He chuckles to himself and dips another slice into the milk and egg mixture.

“What the fuck is that smell,” Bucky groans as he stumbles into the kitchen and grabs the coffee pot chugging down half the coffee without bothering to pour it into a mug first.

“French toast.”

Bucky makes a grimace. “It smells horrible.”

“There’s bacon, too,” Steve nods towards a plateful of it already at the table.

Bucky picks up one of the crunchier pieces and happily nibbles on it. “Now this I like.”

“French toast is delicious, for your information,” Steve points at him with a spatula. Part of him can’t resist the bait for another bickering match. “Especially with powdered sugar and cinnamon.”

“Eugh, no, thanks.”

Steve chuckles at the distraught expression of Bucky’s face. “Your loss.” He says as he plates the rest of them, pours himself a second cup of coffee and grabs the can of whipped cream from the fridge.

Bucky’s eyes widen at that.

“What?”

“Didn’t say anything about whipped cream,” he says, trying to be casual.

Steve rolls his eyes but passes him a slice of his French toast along with the can of whipped cream, and Bucky’s smile is a little bashful when he accepts the food he’s being offered.

“You know you’re gonna throw all this up later.” Steve smirks at him.

Bucky rolls his eyes at that; it only urges Steve to continue. “I’m just sayin’, be careful not to, I don’t know, die by chocking on your own puke or something.”

“I think I’ll be fine, thanks. I made it home alive, didn’t I?”

Steve cracks an amused. “Thanks to _me_.”

“Quit trying to come off as the good guy.” Bucky points his fork at the blond. “I know Clint’s the one who dragged my ass home again.”

“I helped him though, didn’t I?”

“Huh,” Bucky frowns. “Well, thanks for dumping my ass on the floor.”

Steve laughs heartily at that. “I left you on your bed!” he cries out. “If you crawled your way to the living room floor in the middle of the night, that’s on you.”

Bucky huffs a laugh and shrugs, and the subject drops. When they finish eating, he clears the table and gets the water running to wash up the dirty dishes. “Thanks,” he tells Steve over his shoulder, not daring to meet him in the eye.

Steve nods, even though Bucky can’t see him, and goes to take a shower.

 

~~~

 

“So,” Sam says on Monday morning, as he sits across the table from Steve, at their usual coffee shop near campus. He shrugs out of his black leather jacket, thankful that it’s somewhat saved him from the heavy rain that’s pouring down, and picks up the triple-shot large Americano that’s Steve’s bought for him while waiting.

“So?” Steve smirks. “You’re the one who wanted to meet up.”

Sam raises his eyebrow. “You’re the one who has some explaining to do.”

Steve sighs as he fumbles with his phone in his hands. He unlocks the phone, and looks at his wallpaper again; an old scanned picture of him as an 8-year-old, with his mother’s arms around him, both smiling happily at the camera. He locks his phone and sets it face down on the table. “I just wanted to apologise. I’m not sure I ever did.” He tells Sam.

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for,” Sam’s sarcastic tone fades away to that soft, sympathetic tone he uses when talking about touchy subjects.

“Yeah, it’s just,” Steve fiddles with the sleeve of his to-go coffee cup. “I never realised what I put you through.”

“Steve, for god’s sake-”

“No, listen to me, I want to apologise, okay?” Steve interrupts him. He takes a deep breath before speaking and doesn’t dare meet Sam in the eye. “I didn’t see how my behaviour was affecting those around me…especially the person who had to drag my drunk ass home every so often.”

Sam chuckles. “Well, I wasn’t gonna leave you alone, was I? You were picking fights left and right, I was either gonna have to bail you out of jail or have to drive you to the hospital, and I mean, your apartment is so much closer and doesn’t cost me anything, ya feel?”

Steve laughs, the sound startled out of him.

“Listen, it’s okay.” Sam continues with a smile, but no longer joking. “You lost your mother. It’s not a small deal to go through alone. I’m _glad_ I was there to help you through it.” He picks up his carton cup and clinks it with Steve’s. “What are friends for, right?”

“Well, not backing me up in a fight, apparently.”

“Please,” Sam smiles as he sips his coffee. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He says with a wink and Steve laughs again, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for ptsd & panic attacks in this chapter!

 

It is not a good day.

Bucky nearly falls asleep during all of his morning classes, weary from not having slept enough the night before. He doesn’t manage to eat much for lunch and skips his afternoon classes to take a nap instead and spends two hours drifting in and out of sleep. He wastes a few hours playing on the Xbox and gives up on the game after it gets too frustrating; when dinnertime comes around, he doesn’t feel like cooking and decides to get take out instead.

Bucky hovers in the hallway for a moment, hesitating; he knows Steve’s in his room working on an assignment and doesn’t want to distract him just because hehimself is in need of a distraction. He’s only being nice by asking, though, he thinks to himself and decides to go for it.

“Steve?” he knocks on the blonde’s bedroom door gently and pokes his head around.

Steve wakes up at the sound and starts rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Mm?” he hums drowsily.

“How’s the studying going?” Bucky asks with an amused smile.

Steve pushes aside the book on his chest which he’d been reading before he’d drifted off and swings his legs off the bed. “Great,” he croaks out. “I wasted an hour watching cat videos and then took a two hour nap.”

Bucky laughs. “Sounds about right.” he pauses, hesitating again. “I, uh, I wanted to get take out for dinner… was just gonna ask if you wanted some, too.”

Steve nods. “Anything but pizza,” he says as he gets up and walks out of the room, following Bucky into the kitchen. He opens the drawer with the takeaway flyers and picks one at random. The decision to order takeaway turns into a half-hour-long argument about which cuisine they each want, which place to order from, and exactly what to order.

Bucky eventually gives up and calls to make the order while Steve starts wandering around the apartment looking for his wallet.

“There, done.” He says as soon as he hangs up the phone.

Steve is sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. “Did you ask for prawn crackers?”

“They didn’t have any,” Bucky jokes and tries not to show his smile as he flops on the armchair, but Steve seems distracted rather annoyed.

“I can’t find my wallet,” he says as he turns to kneel in front of the couch and starts digging through the cushions. “It’s gotta be in here.” he mutters to himself.

“I haven’t seen it.” Bucky shrugs.

Steve shoots him a look. He extends his arm and dangles a condom wrapped in blue packaging in front of Bucky’s face. Bucky gives him a blank look and Steve raises his eyebrows expecting an explanation.

“That’s not mine,” he says.

Steve frowns, and examines the condom more closely before smiling sheepishly and slipping it in his back pocket. “It must’ve slipped out of my wallet,” he mumbles as he gets to his knees and removes the couch cushions, dropping them on the floor.

“Now, why would you carry a condom in your wallet?” Bucky smirks, watching Steve’s cheeks flood with colour.

“I don’t know, for emergencies.”

“Ah, yes,” Bucky grins wider, enjoying himself all too much. “For those dire life-or-death situations.”

“Shut up.” Steve finds some loose change, a couple of paperclips and an old receipt, but his wallet is not in sight. “What if you had to – like if there was an apocalypse and then you had to repopulate the earth?”

Bucky gets to his feet. He puts a hand on each of Steve’s shoulders and looks at him straight in the eye with the most serious expression he can muster. “Steve,” he pauses for effect, but the silence drags on a second too long as he gets distracted by the eyes that are staring back at him. _His eyes are really blue._

Steve cocks an eyebrow. “Yes?” he says and Bucky snaps back into reality.

“Condoms are _not_ the way to repopulate the earth.”

Steve rolls his eyes and shrugs the man’s hands off his shoulder and wanders off, only to return five minutes later with his wallet in his hand.

“Where was it?”

Steve rubs his face with his hand. “In the fridge.” He says, sounding confused.

Bucky snorts in laughter and Steve shrugs and sinks on the cushions. When the food arrives, Bucky goes to open the door and brings it to the living, and since the coffee table is no longer there he puts the bag on the floor and joins Steve on the cushions. They put the TV on a random channel and watch a documentary about orca whales, chatting and commenting on the programme while they eat.

Steve reaches into one of the boxes with his chopsticks and pokes around only to find it empty. “Did you eat the last of my dim sum?”

Bucky shrugs in response.

“Oh, come on!”

“Pfft, you literally ate all the spring rolls and a double portion of chicken fried rice, you can’t possibly still be hungry.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “When will people stop stealing my food?” he mumbles to himself.

Bucky laughs and pushes the empty boxes out of the way to stretch out his legs, which have started hurting from having sat in a cross-legged position. He grabs a pillow from the armchair, sets it against the couch and leans back.

“I think I’ll just nap here,” he says as he yawns.

Steve huffs a laugh. “I think you mean you’ll slip into a food coma.”

“Sure.”

Steve gets up and cleans up the mess they’ve made, throwing all the empty containers and soda cans into a trash bag and turns in for the night, waving goodnight as he disappears into his bedroom again.

Left alone in the living room, Bucky sighs. His eyelids feel heavy, and he knows he can’t go on much longer without sleep, even if it’s just a few hours, to recharge his batteries. He turns off the TV and heads to his bedroom, strips out of his clothes and falls on his bed with a groan. There’s an uneasy feeling in his stomach and he turns from side to side, unable to get comfortable until eventually he falls asleep.

Three hours later, Bucky wakes up screaming.

He sits up in his bed, drenched in sweat, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. His heart is beating fast, pounding in his chest and as he looks around the dark corners of his room, he feels a panic take over him. He jumps out of bed and rushes out his bedroom, heads for the living room and collapses on his hands and knees, landing on the cushions on the floor.

“Hey, you alright?”

Bucky hears the voice but the words don’t make sense to him. Out of nowhere, Steve appears, kneeling in front of him.

“Shit, Bucky, what’s wrong?”

Bucky tries to answer but he gasps like the air’s been knocked out of his lungs and starts shaking and drawing in short, quick breaths.

“Bucky, breathe,” Steve puts his hands on the man’s shoulders and pulls him up so he’s sitting against the couch instead of leaning forward on his hands. “Take a deep breath.”

Bucky tries to do as he’s said but he can’t seem to regulate his breathing and his heart is still racing in his chest. He feels Steve’s fingers digging into his shoulders, Steve’s worried blue eyes boring into his. Steve’s eyes are really blue. _Steve’s eyes are really blue._

“Look at me,” Steve says and starts taking in deep breaths and Bucky tries to follow his rhythm, still maintaining eye contact. Unexpectedly, it works, and slowly, Bucky starts breathing normally.

Steve drops his arms and sits back on his heels. “Do you feel better?” he asks, and his tone is much softer, much less urgent than his earlier one.

Bucky’s heartbeat hasn’t returned to its usual pace. The anxiety is still making his stomach turn. He shakes his head no.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” Steve murmurs and gets to his feet.

Bucky focuses on the noises in the kitchen as Steve opens the fridge and the cupboard and fills the glass. He listens to Steve’s footsteps and his eyes follow Steve as he approaches and sits down on the floor in front of him.

“Here,”

“Thanks,” Bucky chokes out as he shakily accepts the drink that Steve hands him.

They sit in silence while Bucky sips the cold water. It doesn’t help much except for the cooling sensation in his mouth and throat.

While he could not bring himself to break eye contact earlier, Bucky does not dare meet Steve’s eyes now. The embarrassment hits him as he starts thinking clearly and realises he’d created a fuss in the middle of the night and needed to have Steve calm him down. He finally looks up to see that Steve’s still sitting cross legged opposite him, looking at him with concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of pitiful looks, especially not from Steve, the one person – except for Clint – who doesn’t tiptoe around him.

Steve hesitates before he replies. “Okay,” he says and smiles briefly before getting up and walking away.

Bucky sighs and lets his head fall back, but Steve appears in the room with his blanket and two pillows and sits down right next to him.

“Wanna see if that whale show is still on?” he asks as he switches the TV on and starts flipping through the channels. “Oh, never mind, MasterChef Junior is on.”                        

Bucky stares at him, uncomprehending. Steve doesn’t speak again, focusing on the TV show instead, so Bucky tries to do the same, distract himself with what’s happening on the screen instead of the thoughts swimming around in his head.

 

~~~

 

Bucky wakes up with a throbbing head and a crick in his neck.

The time on his phone tells him it’s nearly midday, and Bucky groans and rolls over, burying himself in the comfort of his duvet. He doesn’t want to leave his bed, much less his room, but his stomach is rumbling in demand of food so he gives up and gets up, throws on a hoodie and makes for the kitchen.

Steve looks up from the mess of papers scattered across the floor and greets him with a smile.

Bucky grunts in response to Steve’s cheery ‘good morning’ and flops on the armchair. “What’s all this?” he asks around a mouthful of cereal.

Steve frowns at something in his notebook and scribbles some stuff out. “Social psych paper,” he mumbles in response and then shrugs. “Sorry for the mess. I figured if I work out here I won’t end up falling asleep.”

“That boring, huh? Isn’t that your major?” Bucky chuckles.

“Sociology is, yeah. It’s not boring, it’s just kind of draining sometimes,” Steve looks up to meet Bucky in the eye. “I’m doing a paper on mental illness and social stigmas.”

Bucky swallows hard. _Great. How appropriate._

“We need a new coffee table,” he mumbles as he sets his half-eaten bowl of cereal on the floor.

Steve snorts. “I told you. You break it, you buy it.”

“All I did,” Bucky says, accentuating his words. “Was put a book on it.”

Steve chuckles. “Sorry, rules are rules.” He says and goes back to scribbling notes on a new piece of paper in illegible handwriting.

Bucky looks at him for a moment, studying the man’s long dark eyelashes, the crease between his eyebrows as he focuses on his work, the way his teeth sink into his lower lip when he stops and looks at what he’s written before crossing it out. He looks like he should be on the front cover of a magazine.

Bucky shakes his head, getting the thoughts out of his brain, but the motion makes Steve look up at him.

“Um,” Bucky starts by taking a deep breath. “I wanted to, uh – I feel like I owe you an explanation about last night.”

“You don’t owe me any kind of explanation.” Steve says in a soft tone of voice.

Bucky had never heard Steve use that kind of tone when addressing him until last night. He swallows hard. “I’m sorry I made a fuss and woke you up.” He says, and a weight lifts off his shoulders when he hears Steve chuckle.

“Of all the dick moves you’ve pulled on me, and that’s what you want to apologise for?” He says as he gets up, puts all his books and notepads down and climbs up on the couch so he’s at eye level with Bucky.

Bucky shrugs and smiles lightly.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve tells him. “What happened?” he asks after a pause.

Bucky hesitates. He knows he wants to explain to Steve, but the thought of exposing that side of him to Steve makes him nervous. “I had a nightmare,” he says after a long moment of silence. “And a panic attack.” He sighs and looks down at his hands. “I was in rehab for a few months after my accident, and they made me see a therapist for a while. She told me I have PTSD.”

Bucky looks up to see Steve nodding like he understands and the heavy feeling in his stomach eases a tiny bit.

“Do you still see her?”

“No,” Bucky shakes his head slowly. “It was making it worse than better, so I stopped seeing her when I left the rehab centre and went back home.”

“I’m sorry, I had no idea-”

Bucky rubs his face with his flesh hand. “Don’t,” he looks up and meets Steve’s eyes. He can’t get the words out, describe himself clearly, but he manages to bite out, “I don’t want to be pitied.”

“Okay,” Steve tells him in that soft tone of voice, even if it has a hint of questioning in it.

“I know you’re sorry that happened to me,” Bucky continues. “Everyone is always sorry that happened to me.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s teasing smile curves his mouth. “What if I told you I’m not sorry, actually I’m real happy,”

Bucky huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I know you’re lying. You’re not _that_ much of a dick.” He says and Steve shrugs in response. Bucky holds his gaze for a moment before looking away. He feels his heartbeat increasing and he’s silent for a while, taking in deep breaths to try and calm down. Steve notices, of course, and sits up in an upright position, as if getting ready to spring into action.

“I wasn’t alone…I wasn’t alone in the car…” Bucky says finally in a low voice.

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice sounds more distant than it actually is, and when Steve reaches out and grabs his hand, Bucky jumps a little, startled by the contact. Steve holds Bucky’s hand in his open palm and Bucky looks down to realise that his hand is shaking.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Steve says in response to Bucky’s unintelligible muttering.

Bucky nods and Steve’s hand closes over his and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Then Steve gets to his feet and pulls him up by his hand. “Come on,” he tells Bucky and walks towards the front door, pulling Bucky with him. “Let’s go get some fresh air, grab a cup of coffee.”

Bucky nods as he grabs his jacket from the hook and follows Steve out the door.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

****

 

“So how’d you go from wanting to give him head to wanting his actual head?”

Steve nearly chokes on his strawberry daiquiri which Peggy had given him after taking his beer away because beer is ‘vile and disgusting, Steve’. There’s a round of laughter around the room and, Angie, the one who’d asked the question, is smirking smugly. Two hours into opening his door to greet the guests who had pretty much invited themselves to his apartment and Steve was still needing to remind himself to keep his cool no matter what came out of Angie’s mouth. He didn’t know her that well, had only shared a couple of classes with her during first and second year, but that didn’t seem to matter to her.

“I distinctly remember someone mentioning something about no boys talk.”

Natasha clicks her tongue at him. “You’re exempt from the rule.” she says and Maria nods in agreement.

“I don’t want his head. We’re okay now.” He says finally, thinking that it’s better to answer the questions instead of avoiding them. “We’re friends,” he shrugs. It’s the truth; the initial physical attraction he felt towards Bucky was completely forgotten, because yeah, Bucky was _attractive_ , but Steve wasn’t _attracted_ to him. And it was a little hard to believe that they went from arguing all the time, to somewhat tolerating each other, to being actual friends who hang out and had dinner together most nights, even went to the cinema and met up for coffee on campus after their classes, but that’s how things were nonetheless.

Angie nods, giving him a sincere look. “Did you guys bang it out?”

“God, Angie,” Peggy nudges the woman to her right with her elbow, even though she finds herself chuckling.

“That does seem like the most likely scenario of what happened.” Maria adds in helpfully.

Steve shakes his head, a look of fond exasperation on his face. Why on earth did he agree to this? Not that it was up to him, really. Natasha had mass-texted her friends saying that they’re having a get-together at Steve’s place to cheer him up because he’s sad that his boyfriends have gone away for spring break. Steve had protested, saying that he’s not sad, Sam and Bucky are _not_ his boyfriends, and he’s got to catch up with some school work.

Natasha had insisted. “You work too hard, Steve,” she’d told him after catching up with him after their last classes of the day. “Gotta learn to relax a little.”

He hated to admit, but she was right; he was starting his full-time holiday job on Monday which would keep him busy for the entirety of their spring break, and then he’d be back into full time classes again.

And that’s how Steve found himself curled up on the armchair of his living room on Friday night, sipping fruity cocktails which required ingredients he didn’t even have at his place, and listening to the group of women chatter and drink and laugh the night away. It’s not like he actually minds anyway, even if he’s not that close with any of the people there except for Natasha. In fact he’s too preoccupied laughing at one of Peggy’s embarrassing work stories – about a guy who tried to flirt with her and then stumbled and walked into the door on the way out – that he doesn’t hear the front door being opened and closed.

“That sounds like something Steve would do,” Natasha grins over her Mai Tai, the making of which she’d mastered to perfection.

“Oh, come on, I’m not that bad,” Steve protests.

“Yeah, you are,” Peggy nods in agreement to Natasha’s statement, and laughs when Steve glares at her. “I’m sorry but your flirting skills are the worst I’ve ever seen.”

Steve knows that she knows this from that very first awkward encounter of theirs in first year when he’d tried asking her out, stumbled over his words and practically run away when Peggy had smiled at him as she’d turned him down, telling him she was already dating someone else. Still, he decides to play along, and rolls his eyes as he throws up his arms in a gesture of overdramatic exasperation.

“Okay, let’s be fair,” Maria pipes up, raising her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Your flirting skills are not terrible, Steve,” she says and pauses for effect, barely managing to keep a straight face before she adds, “They’re non-existent.”

The group bursts into laughter, while Steve purses his lips and tries not to show his amusement.

“Who needs flirting skills when you’ve got a body like that?” A deep, all-too-familiar voice says, cutting through laughter.

Steve whips his head around to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe of the living room, arms folded against his chest and smirking at him. Bucky walks over and goes to take a seat on the armrest next to Steve, who feels his whole face heat up, because fuck, when exactly had Bucky walked in and how much of the conversation had he heard?

“Did Steve tell you what happened yesterday?” he says to the group of the women, who are eyeing him curiously.

“Oh, no,” Steve covers his face in embarrassment, knowing what’s coming up.

Bucky starts laughing. “We had pizza delivered, right?” he leans forward and picks up Steve’s glass from the table to take a sip. “And Steve here decides to go and open the door shirtless.”

“Classy,” Natasha smirks at him. Steve wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

“Poor pizza girl was swooning so hard she almost left without the money. Steve had to chase her down the stairs to pay her.”

There’s a round of laughter and Bucky turns to look at Steve, with a shit-eating grin on his face. “See, no need to worry about flirting. Just take your shirt off and you’ll be fine.” he says, patting Steve on his chest.

“Shut up,” Steve tries to fight a smile and pull an annoyed expression instead, and shoves his hand away.

“I thought you were going home for the break, James,”

Bucky turns his head to look at the redhead. “Can you please just call me Bucky like normal people do?” He asks, and she raises an eyebrow at him. Bucky rolls his eyes. “I changed my mind.”

“You’re staying here?”

Bucky nods in reply to Steve’s question, giving him a small smile. Then he gets up, says goodnight to the group and leaves the room, heading for his bedroom. Steve watches him leave with a lazy smile on his face.

Silence lingers in the room for a long moment before Angie decides to speak up. “I don’t buy it,” she says with a sarcastic quirk of her mouth. “They’re definitely banging.”

 

~~

Later in the night, Steve finds himself wedged in between Natasha and Maria at a booth-style round table at the bar the girls had chosen to go to after their gathering at Steve’s place. He’s only barely listening to the conversation at the table, instead sneaking glances to the bar; inviting his roommate along had seemed like a good idea then, but Steve regrets it now as he watches Bucky down his fourth double scotch, courtesy of the man who’s towering over him.

It’s not even that he’s annoyed that Bucky’s ignoring them to hang out with a stranger who can’t seem to keep his hands to himself, it’s the fact that Bucky’s getting drunker and drunker that makes Steve unable to focus on anything else. It’s not jealousy, he tells himself; it’s his protective instincts kicking in.

The man shifts even closer to Bucky, and Bucky takes another step back. There’s a sloppy, drunken smile plastered on his face, and whatever the man is telling him must be so interesting that Bucky’s not tearing his eyes away from him. Except when he _does_ take a look around, and his eyes meet Steve’s across the bar, Bucky’s expression changes into a completely serious, albeit slightly alarmed one, like he was caught doing something embarrassing.

Steve grits his teeth.

“Think he needs rescuing?”

He looks at Natasha with a frown on his face. “What?”

“Your boy Bucky,” Natasha gestures to the bar with her head. “Go get him.”

“He’s fine,” he says with a shrug, and then scrunches up his face. “And he’s not ‘my boy,’”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Go get him or I will, and you probably won’t like it,” she says as she gets up to make way for him.

Steve slides out of the booth and takes a deep breath before he starts making his way through the crowd, and reaches the bar just as Bucky’s finishing his drink.

“Ookay,” Steve grabs the glass and puts it down on the counter. “Think you’ve had enough for tonight,”

“Stevie!” Bucky exclaims, grinning from ear to ear, and slings an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “You come to take me home?” he slurs, winking at him.

Steve rolls his eyes and pulls Bucky to his feet, sliding an arm around his waist. Bucky doesn’t get to take another step when the man who was flirting with him grabs his arm and stands up to block their path. “The fuck you think you’re doing?” he barks to Steve.

Steve fights back the urge to take a swing at the man – who is even taller and bigger than him, but not that had ever mattered – and opts for a sarcastic smile instead. “Saving my boyfriend from creeps like you,” he says in his calmest possible tone. In the back of his mind, he’s glad that his friends aren’t anywhere nearby and didn’t hear what he’d just said because they really wouldn’t let him live it down.

Bucky bursts into giggles, and turns to bury his face in Steve’s neck as Steve shoulders past the man, biting out an, “Excuse me,” and starts making for the door.

“My hero,” he whispers close to Steve’s ear.

Once they’re outside, Steve lets go of Bucky and his feigned smile melts away, being replaced by an angry frown.

“What, you get jealous?” Bucky says with a grin, the words coming out in a drunken slur. “Wasn’t really gonna fuck him.”

Steve snorts sarcastically. “Few more drinks and you wouldn’t have a choice in the matter,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

Bucky hears him though, and responds with a roll of his eyes. A frown creases his eyebrows when he sees Steve pulls out his phone to dial for a taxi, and Bucky reaches out and grabs the phone from Steve’s hands. “’M not going home,”

Steve raises his eyebrows at him. “Yeah, you are,”

“No,” Bucky pushes at the blonde’s shoulder, not letting him get his phone back. “Quit babying me, I’m fine.”

“I’m not babying you.” Steve’s expression softens. “I’m looking out for you, Buck.”

Bucky groans. “Fuck off,” he bites out in a tone of voice that Steve had never heard him use, not even when they used to argue every other day.

“Bucky,” Steve says in his gentlest voice. Bucky turns around and starts walking away, swaying a little as he does. “Bucky, wait!” Steve shouts out as he starts jogging to catch up to him.

Bucky stops in his tracks, and looks at Steve with an icy expression on his face.

Steve lets out a breath, shrugs his shoulders and shoves his hands in his jeans’ pockets. “Fine, we can walk home.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth quirk up anyway. They walk in a steady pace, with Bucky swaying occasionally and bumping his shoulder against Steve’s, who looks at Bucky and smiles in return.

The walk home is silent, even though Steve wants to speak up and say that he’s worried about how drunk Bucky gets every time he’s somewhere where there’s alcohol. He decides to save the discussion for another time when Bucky is sober.

When they get home, Bucky takes off his jacket and hangs it on the hook by the door, then turns and practically falls into Steve’s arms, locking his hands around the man’s neck. The gesture takes Steve by surprise, but he responds by wrapping both arms around his roommate’s back and holding him close.

“Thanks,” Bucky murmurs against the exposed skin of Steve’s neck where he’s buried his head.

Steve closes his eyes as he feels a shiver travel down his spine at the contact of warm breath on his skin, and his hand impulsively curls in Bucky’s long hair. He immediately misses the warmth when Bucky pulls away and gives him a faint smile before saying ‘Goodnight,’ and heading to his bedroom.

Steve breaths out a quiet ‘’Night,’ as he stands frozen in his spot, watching Bucky walk away.

Something in his heart slots into place and Steve’s eyes grow wide as the realisation dawns on him.

 

~~

 

“I’m never drinking again.” Bucky groans as he rubs his temples. Everything is too bright, too loud, and all he wants to do is crawl back into bed.

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

His head snaps up to see Steve leaning against the counter with his arms cross against his chest, looking at him with soft, blue eyes.

“Huh?”

Steve licks his lips before he speaks. “Don’t get mad, okay?” he says, and Bucky realises that he’s nervous; he’s never seen Steve like that. _What if –_ Bucky stops the thought before he gets his hopes up that Steve could like him.

“Okay...”

“It’s just, I worry,” Steve shrugs. He’s struggling to maintain eye contact. “When you’re out drinking to the point that you can’t walk straight…” he sighs. “D’you always have someone to look out for you?”

Bucky’s hand curls into a fist. “Don’t need someone to look out for me,”

Steve pushes off the counter and takes a seat at the table opposite Bucky, leaning forward on his arms. “I’m not looking to pick a fight, Buck.” He says, but the words irritate Bucky even more.

“What do you want?” he bites out icily.

Steve flinches visibly. He leans back in his seat and rubs a hand across his face. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I know you’re dealing with-”

Bucky kicks his chair back and gets to his feet, interrupting Steve mid-sentence. “You don’t know shit,” he grits out and turns around, storming out of the kitchen.

Bucky slams his bedroom door shut and curses under his breath. Steve’s patient, but not endlessly, and Bucky’s afraid he’s crossed that line and lost the friendship they’d started building the last few weeks.

He groans as he falls face-first on his bed. What made everything so much worse is that Bucky had come to realise his feelings for Steve weren’t completely platonic, shortly after their relationship had moved from constant arguing, to being civil to each other, to hanging out pretty much all the time – which was a given, Bucky thought, since they lived together after all. But then Steve was inviting him out to go see an art show, or offering to go to a concert that Bucky couldn’t find anyone to go with, and then out of nowhere, the banter between them turned playful and friendly.

Which is exactly when Bucky realised he’d started falling for Steve. He caught himself gazing at Steve’s mouth, holding eye contact a little longer than what would construed as normal, and blatantly staring at his ass whenever Steve was walking away. It wasn’t just that; it was the way Steve stayed up with him until the early morning hours when Bucky was too restless to sleep, the way he made him dinner sometimes when Bucky had forgotten to eat anything all day, how he offered to help with Bucky’s schoolwork even though he knew nothing about the subject matter.

 _God_ , Steve cared about him, he cared _so fucking much_ , and _fuck_ Bucky had acted like a total dick.

Bucky groans again. He doesn’t know what to do next. Apologising would be a good start, probably. Explaining why he snapped would be harder – he doesn’t even know himself. The angry outbursts are mostly out of his control, when he can’t fight back the irritation that bubbles inside him. In this case it’s near damn impossible to explain, because he knows Steve was only trying to help him. He knows the drinking gets out of control sometimes, and it never actually helps with his problems, and sometimes creates new ones – this exact situation being a prime example of it.

Bucky hadn’t planned on acting that way, but it was driving him crazy, having spent a good hour sitting with his shoulder pressed against Steve’s and their knees touching under the table. So when the guy at the bar started making advances, he thought, sure, what the hell, maybe he could flirt back a little see if Steve would get jealous, or maybe even sleep with the guy and hope it makes him forget about Steve just a little. Bucky hadn’t counted on the guy being a total creep and having to send a subtle distress signal to Steve from across the bar who had swooped in to save him, pretending to be his _fucking boyfriend,_ like it was no big deal.

All in all, the night was a disaster, and now he’d gone and fucked up even more.

When he emerges from his bedroom, Bucky finds Steve lying on the couch, browsing on his laptop aimlessly. He looks up for a split-second before returning his gaze to his laptop screen.

Bucky swallows hard. “Hey,” he says as he walks over and curls up on the armchair. Steve returns the greeting but doesn’t look up, and Bucky curses under his breath. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s okay,” Steve says in a tone that matches Bucky’s; there’s no anger in his voice.

No one can be that understanding. He’s not deserving of Steve’s patience, of his kindness, of his friendship, Bucky thinks, blinking as he feels tears well up in his eyes. He can’t control his tears any more than he could control his earlier outburst of anger, though.

“Buck?” Steve practically jumps up from the couch when he hears the sobs escaping from Bucky’s mouth, and appears in front of him instantly, sitting on his knees on the floor. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky shakes his head, unable to speak. He forcefully wipes the tears off his face and takes a deep breath, trying to stop himself from crying, but then Steve’s hand curls around his wrist and tugs at it, and Bucky lets himself be pulled off the chair and onto the floor. When Steve’s arms find their way around him, Bucky lets out another involuntary sob, and then Steve’s rubbing his back gently and Bucky can’t stop himself from clutching at the collar of Steve’s hoodie, burying his face in the crook of the man’s neck as he starts crying uncontrollably.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers in his ear, his fingers running through Bucky’s hair soothingly. “You’re okay, Buck, shh, you’re okay,”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says in a shaky voice once he’s able to speak again. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Steve leans back and Bucky lifts his face to look at Steve with red and swollen eyes. Steve reaches out and pushes the long brown hair out of his face, gentle as ever. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for, Buck.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I snapped. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“Well, I forgive you.” Steve smiles weakly. He holds Bucky’s gaze for a moment longer before he looks down at his hands. Eventually he shifts so that he’s sitting next to Bucky instead of opposite him. “I wanted to say…um, I don’t want to cross any lines, but-”

“What?”

Steve swallows hard. “Have you thought about giving the therapy another chance?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters.

“Really?”

The brunet nods. “It’s just…I don’t know. I don’t feel like it’s a priority. And I can’t really afford it.”

Steve shifts closer to him so that their shoulders are pressed together. “I know somewhere you can go,” he says softly. “It’s this non-profit place Sam volunteers in the summers. It’ll take a while until they see you I think but if you registered now...they could help you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says and pauses, considering the offer. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

Steve nods in response and they fall silent again. Bucky lets out a deep sigh; a weight has lifted off his shoulders, and he doesn’t understand how Steve manages to get him to calm down time after time when he has complete and utter mental breakdowns. There’s something so soothing about the way he looks at Bucky with those soft blue eyes of his, and how he won’t hesitate to wrap his strong arms around Bucky to comfort him.

His heart still beating irregularly fast, Bucky bites his lower lip and curses himself for falling in love with the first person that has been nice to him out of the kindness of his heart, and because he actually _likes_ Bucky, rather than just pities him.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

Bucky taps his fingers restlessly against the door of the fridge as he tries to decide what to make for dinner.

Having been used to going to classes every day (or at least, almost every day), Bucky is finding it hard to get used to how much free time he has now that it’s spring break. He has assignments to do, of course, but the deadlines for those aren’t imminent and don’t take up much of his time. It’s Thursday evening, and he’d been bored all day; Watching back-to-back episodes of _Buffy_ and playing _Call of Duty_ (which wasn’t all that great but Clint had ‘borrowed’ all his other games with no apparent intention of returning them) kept him entertained enough for a while, but now he couldn’t think of anything else to waste time with.

Bucky lets out a quiet groan at his indecision and pulls out the carton of eggs and bacon, deciding to make himself breakfast food for dinner, because it’s quick and easy and he’s too impatient to cook a proper meal. It’s a shame, he thinks, because he likes cooking, especially when he’s cooking for both himself and Steve, but Steve’s gone for the night since he has the night shift at the family-style Italian restaurant and won’t be back for dinner.

He’s busy plating up the fried eggs and bacon when he hears the key turn in the front door, followed by a quiet click as the door opens and closes.

“Buuuck!” Steve calls out as he walks in, and it takes Bucky a moment to realise that he’s not supposed to be home this early. Steve appears in the room, leaning against the doorframe. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, his skin is flushed and his eyes look weary. “They sent me home.”

“Why’s that?” Bucky asks as he walks around the kitchen counter to come closer to Steve.

“I’m sick,” Steve shrugs, his mouth forming a small pout. “I was dizzy and I stumbled and fell and hit my head, and Ellen did a check on me and told the boss I needed to go home and rest.”

Bucky’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh my god, are you okay?” he asks, taking a step towards Steve and puts his hands on Steve’s elbows, peering into his eyes.

Steve nods, and tells him he’s been given painkillers and told he needed to rest. Bucky sighs, feeling slightly less worried about it, if only because he remembers Steve telling him that Ellen is a med student, and at least that counts for something. “Don’t you need to go to the hospital?” he asks, just to make sure.

Steve shakes his head. “I’ll be fine,” he says in a quieter voice.

Bucky holds his gaze as he presses the back of his hand on Steve’s forehead, who beams at the touch of Bucky’s cool skin. Bucky gasps. “Steve, you’re burning up.”

Steve full on pouts now, his expression exaggerated, bordering on comical. He turns and walks away, heading for the living room to crash on the couch. Bucky follows him, and tries not to laugh at the way Steve’s sprawled on the couch, with an arm placed across his eyes and the rest of his limbs spread out in every direction.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you all better,” he says with a playful wink.

Steve gives him a half-dazed smile in return.

Bucky gets him a thin blanket and a pillow from his bedroom, and a pair of pyjamas to change into. Of course, Steve protests. He gets up and strips down to his boxers, says it’s too hot to wear clothes and collapses face-first back into the couch. Bucky rolls his eyes, but has to admit that Steve’s right, because even though it’s still April, it’s hotter that night than it would normally be. He goes to retrieve a light cotton sheet instead, and comes to finds that Steve’s drifted off to sleep. Bucky sighs as he pulls the cover over the man, and goes to eat the half-assed dinner he’d made for himself.

Surprisingly, Steve wakes up half an hour later, demanding Bucky’s attention. “Buuuck!”

Bucky walks to the living room to find Steve frowning in annoyance that’s directed to himself.

“I’m sick.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says with a fond smile. He walks over and presses his hand against the man’s forehead again. “Couldn’t wait to take some Tylenol before you fell asleep, huh?”

Steve shrugs. He stays lying on the couch as Bucky gets him the medicine, which he gulps down along with an entire glass of water.

“That should help,” Bucky says, and he can’t help but reach out and push his fingers through Steve’s mess of blond hair, though he thinks he disguises it for checking his temperature again.

“Can you get the thermometer?” Steve chokes out and Bucky immediately retrieves his hand, thinking he’s made Steve uncomfortable. But Steve just grins cheekily. “No offense, but I trust it more than your hand.”

Bucky snorts. “For your information, my hand is _very_ accurate.” He puts his palm across Steve’s forehead, then his cheek, and even his neck, which just makes Steve chuckle. Bucky gives an estimate of 102. The thermometer reads 103, and Steve snickers when Bucky mutters, “Close enough,”

Bucky offers to make him something to eat, but Steve protests, saying he’s not hungry.

“You gotta eat something,”

Steve gets up, pulls the sheet around his shoulders and follows Bucky to the kitchen. “Don’t wanna,” he says as he takes a seat at the table, and props up an elbow to balance his head on it. “Can’t eat.”

Bucky crosses his arms against his chest. “How about some soup, hmm?”

Steve shrugs. He makes a vague gesture, pointing towards the far end cupboard, and Bucky opens it to find a bunch of instant soup mix packets.

“Naw, these are crap.” He closes the cupboard. “I’ll make you actual soup, okay?”

Steve shakes his head in protest, too weak to say anything.

He looks so adorable, Bucky thinks, and feels bad for thinking, mainly because he always feels bad for having these kind of thoughts, and secondly because Steve is so weary from the illness, that holding him close and kissing him better should be the last thing on Bucky’s mind. The thoughts are quickly knocked out of his head though when he hears a thump and turns to see Steve resting his head against the table.

“Steve, are you okay?” Bucky asks softly.

Steve shakes his head, his forehead rubbing on the table. “Hurts. Cold.”

Bucky sighs and helps him off the chair, and drags him to the living room with Steve’s arm around his shoulders, and Steve drops back on the couch once they get there. “Where does it hurt?” he asks, once again running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

A hazy smile curves Steve’s mouth. “Like it when you do that,” he says, and Bucky’s glad that his eyes are closed and he can’t see how badly he’s blushing as he pulls the blanket over Steve.

“Is it your head? Do you feel dizzy? Are you sure I shouldn’t take you to the hospital?”

Steve shakes his head in response.

Bucky tries again, his voice much softer this time when he asks, “Where does it hurt, Stevie?

“Throat,” Steve mumbles grumpily. “Eyes. Everywhere.”

Bucky nods, even though Steve can’t see him. “I’ll go make you some tea, okay? Don’t fall asleep,” he whispers and then, because he has no fucking self-control, he leans over and presses his lips against Steve’s forehead, then immediately straightens up when he realises what he’s done.

He’s definitely crossed a boundary, because there are casual affectionate gestures that have become a normal part of their friendship, but Bucky’s he’s pretty sure kissing Steve’s forehead isn’t the same as slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders when they’re walking down the street together.

Thankfully, Steve is not only undisturbed, but he’s smiling, and Bucky hurries out of the room before he does something even worse and like kissing Steve on the mouth.

Later, Bucky comes to find that Steve pretty much reverts to his 5 year old self when he’s sick, which includes complaining about eating the chicken noodle soup Bucky’s made specifically for him, demanding that they watch cartoons, and whining about being too hot and too cold alternately.

“Oh my God,” Bucky says when Steve puts the bowl on the table, not even having eaten half of it, but Steve is just smiling sheepishly. “Eat your damn food, will you?” he says as he grabs the bowl and puts it back in Steve’s hands. “I ain’t feeding you.”

Steve pouts.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You must’ve been a handful as a kid.”

“I was a delight to have around, for your information.” Steve responds. He’s speaking more clearly now, and doesn’t look as bad as he did when he’d first come home, Bucky notices. He might be a little out of it still, but Bucky thinks Steve is mostly just continuing the act to annoy him.

He finds himself chuckling. “I’m sure your mother would disagree.”

“Yeah, well, you can ask her when you see her.”

The words carry more spite than teasing, and Bucky bumps his shoulder against Steve’s. “I’m only joking,” he says using a softer voice than earlier.

Steve looks at him only briefly, and shrugs. “She passed away two years ago.”

“Oh,” Bucky’s face falls. “Shit, I’m sorry, Steve.” He snakes his arm around the man’s shoulders, and almost automatically Steve turns his body and cuddles up to him, settling with his head against Bucky’s chest.

They stay like that for a long moment, and Bucky tries to feel not too wonderful about Steve’s solid, warm body pressed so close to his own, and _God_ , Steve is still wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and it’s not helping the situation at all. Bucky immediately misses the contact when Steve pulls away and gets to his feet.

“Wanna sleep,” he mumbles.

Bucky stands up as Steve does. “Come on,” he says.

Even though Steve is perfectly capable of walking on his own two feet, Bucky can’t deny himself the chance of putting either hand on Steve’s hips as he guides him to his bedroom. Steve yawns sleepily and crawls into bed, and when Bucky goes to leave the room, Steve grabs him by his wrist and pulls him down on the bed with him.

“Stay,” he mumbles, and curls around Bucky, a content, hazy smile spreading across his face as he immediately starts to drift off.

Bucky lays frozen for a second, trying to process what just happened because _fuck_ , Steve is practically _spooning_ him, and that’s _definitely_ crossing the boundaries between ‘friendly’ and what can only be described as ‘sensual’. Steve’s body pressed close to his back feels warm and wonderful, though, his strong arms enveloping Bucky make him feel safe. The sudden intimacy is strange, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind, and Bucky figures it doesn’t hurt that he himself actually enjoys it. He falls asleep feeling calmer than he has in months, and sleeps soundly through the night.

 

~~

 

There’s no mistaking it. Nothing else could explain the solid mass that’s pressed against _his fucking ass._

His head is throbbing and his throat is still a little sore, and he feels too hot all over, like he’s feverish. Steve lies frozen in his spot, tries to figure out if Bucky’s still asleep judging by his breathing, and finds that he is, thankfully. The second thing he’s trying to figure out is if he can slip out of bed without waking Bucky up, and in the back of his mind he’s wondering how exactly he ended up being spooned by his roommate of all people – who happens to be the same guy Steve only recently realised he’s in love with.

Steve takes a deep breath and carefully slips out of bed, placing his pillow where he used to be and holds his breath as he watches Bucky curl around it. He ignores the twinge in his chest which misses the warmth and comfort of Bucky, and slips out of his bedroom.

In the living room, he finds a box of medication, a half-eaten bowl of soup and a mug with a little tea left in the bottom, and Steve remembers coming home sick with a fever and having suffered a slight concussion, and Bucky nursing him back into health. It makes sense, suddenly; Steve knows that he gets super affectionate and very touchy-feely when he’s ill, and his entire face heats up in embarrassment again – oh God, he hadn’t _kissed_ Bucky, had he? And would that _really_ be the worst case scenario, since he had apparently pulled Bucky into bed with him, and they’d ended up cuddling through the night?

They’d definitely crossed a boundary, and Steve is caught between feeling slightly guilty about enjoying the intimacy of their embrace and anxious about what Bucky will think of the previous night’s events when he wakes up. The thought that Bucky willingly chose to stay in Steve’s bed instead of getting up and going to sleep in his own doesn’t cross Steve’s mind.

His headache is getting worse the more he thinks about it, but thankfully the doorbell rings and snaps him out of his thoughts. Steve grabs the blanket from the couch and puts it around his shoulders before he goes to open the door.

“Hey,” Clint nods at him and walks in before he’s even invited.

“’Morning,”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “It’s noon, actually. Where’s Bucky? We’re supposed to go shoot things.” He says, twirling an arrow between his fingers, and laughs when Steve looks alarmed. “Soda cans, not animals or anything.”

Steve nods. His mind is still a little hazy, so he speaks without thinking twice. “He’s asleep,” he says as he drops on the couch.

“I’ll go wake him up,” Clint says as he starts making his way down the hallway and Steve nods again, before jumping to his feet. Clint appears in the living room, frowning in confusion. “Uh, he’s not in there.”

Steve flushes – again. There’s no way he can explain it. “Umm,” he stammers.

Clint looks him up and down and smirks. “Got it,” he says and turns on his heel, heading towards Steve’s bedroom this time.

“Wakey wakey!” Steve hears him yell, followed by, “Thank fuck you’re not naked. Get up.”

Oh no, why is there never a hole in the ground when you need one to swallow you up? Steve settles on the floor, turns on the TV and fixes his eyes on the screen, and hopes that Bucky leaves without saying anything because Steve doesn’t think he can meet him in the eye.

Luck is never on his side.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says when he walks in the room. “You feel better?”

Steve looks up to see him smiling, and the dreadful feeling in his stomach eases a little. It could’ve been awkward, really fucking awful in fact, but it’s not. He nods his head yes in response and Bucky smiles even brighter.

“Told ya I’d get you all better,” he says with a wink.

Steve’s stomach does somersaults at the sight. “Thanks, Buck,” he smiles.

Clint and Bucky leave soon after, and Steve is left alone with instructions to eat his soup and take his pills and drink more tea with honey if his throat is still sore. Steve lets out a heavy sigh when he hears the front door close. He’s not sure he’s lucky to have a friend as wonderful as Bucky, or so unlucky that he’s gone and fallen in love with said friend.

Luck is never, _ever_ on his side.

****

~~

 

“I don’t buy it,” Clint says with a nonchalant shrug. He’s sat on top of the stone fence of his brother’s farm house, kicking his heels against it. “Steve was practically naked when he opened the door. How can it not be what it looks like?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the target. It doesn’t help that Clint keeps yelling out instructions, telling him to correct his posture and what not, and then going back to asking whether he’d hooked up with Steve. He pulls his arm back and releases the arrow. It flies straight past the soda can Clint has set up on the pole about ten feet away.

“Wow, you _suck_ ,” he laughs and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,”

Clint jumps off the wall and grabs the bow out of Bucky’s hands. He picks up an arrow and twirls it in his fingers. “Watch how the pros do it.” He says with a cocky grin, and Bucky groans when Clint hits the center of the can perfectly, and sends it flying back.

“That’s 10 for me, 4 for you.” Clint beams proudly. “Anyway, like I was saying, there’s no such thing as sleeping together platonically. The fuck does that mean?”

Bucky shrugs. “I’m telling you, I didn’t sleep with him.” He says. “I mean, we did sleep together, in the same bed, we just didn’t fuck.”

“Right,” Clint is raising an eyebrow at him.

“We _didn’t_ ,” Bucky insists. He pulls out his phone and browses through his gallery, in the folder of his screenshots.

“And you’re telling me it’s not weird to share a bed with someone you’re only friends with?”

Bucky shrugs, not wanting to think about it. He finds the picture he’s looking for and smiles. “I still have the text you sent me, look.”

Clint bursts into giggles as he reads the conversation. Bucky had texted him right after walking out of Steve’s apartment the first time he’d gone for a viewing, saying “I’m gonna fuck my new roommate.” And Clint had replied in all caps, “DO NOT FUCK YOUR NEW ROOMMATE.”

“See, I listen to your advice.” Bucky smiles innocently.

Clint snorts. “Yeah, yeah, let’s see for how long though.” He mumbles as he sets up another can on the pole, then goes to pull out a new arrow out of his quiver. He concentrates for a moment before he shoots and hits the target again, then lets out a celebratory cheer.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

****

 

Steve spends five hours in the library reading through and rewriting his notes in preparation for his upcoming exam, the last one of the academic year. He wonders how it’s possible for the year to have flown by so fast, yet the remaining days leading up to his last exam seem to pass so dreadfully slow. He likes working in the library, where he can focus better and there are fewer distractions compared to his apartment, but by dinner time he’s exhausted, so he packs his bag and heads home.

Bucky is nowhere to be seen. A little part of him is disappointed. Coming home to Bucky had become a normal part of his routine; whether he was returning from a long shift at the restaurant or from countless hours of studying at the library, unwinding to bad late-night television with Bucky curled up next to him on the couch was calming, comforting, and gave him the mental strength to get out of bed the next day and do it all over again. It was something Steve never knew he needed.

Steve spends a good half hour standing under the hot shower stream, trying not to think about what it would be like if Bucky was in there with him, and fails. He turns and stands with his back against the wall, wincing at the cool feeling against his back, he tries not to let his hand close around his semi-hard dick, and fails even worse. Every inch of his self-control vanishes when he touches himself, imaging it was Bucky’s hand on him, stroking him up and down, his body pressed against Steve’s, his mouth on his neck… Steve finishes quicker than he would’ve liked, and comes over his hand, a soft gasp falling from his mouth as he does. He drops to the floor, sitting cross legged, and grabs the shampoo bottle, because the heat of the closed space is making him dizzy and he hasn’t even washed himself yet. He stumbles out of the bathroom in a slight daze, and falls on his bed where he stays for a while, with his towel wrapped around his hips.

Eventually, Steve changes into a clean pair of boxer briefs and picks up his notebook before he climbs under the covers. He goes over his notes once, and is almost drifting off to sleep when he hears a knock on his door and sees Bucky poke his head around.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, an instinctive smile curving his mouth.

“Hey. Uh…. I know this is weird, but,” Bucky says as he walks in and closes the door behind him. “Can I sleep on your floor?” he asks, hesitance evident in his voice.

Steve shakes his head as he shifts to the far end of the bed and barely opens his eyes as he simply beckons Bucky over. “My bed’s a lot comfier,” he mumbles sleepily.

Bucky sighs in relief before crawls into bed with Steve, who tries to contain his grin as he curls around Bucky.

“Like I’d let you sleep on the floor,” Steve whispers close to his ear, nosing at the hair on the nape of Bucky’s neck.

“Sorry,” Bucky breaths out a faint laugh as he settles closer to Steve, with his back against the man’s chest. “Didn’t feel like sleeping alone.” he confesses.

“Mm,” Steve hums, unsure whether to tell Bucky that he doesn’t like sleeping alone either, and has wanted Bucky’s presence in his bed ever since that morning he woke up to find Bucky curled around him. He decides against it, and instead whispers “’Night, Buck,”

Steve’s last thought before he falls asleep is that he wishes he could’ve kissed Bucky goodnight.

 

~~

 

There’s a tray of vanilla cupcakes baking in the oven, another one cooling on the kitchen counter, and Bucky’s stirring frosting while humming along to the songs that are playing on his phone. He keeps checking the time, willing for it to get to midnight since that’s when Steve usually gets home after his dreadfully long shift at the restaurant where he works during university breaks. Another hour to go, and Bucky feels slightly pathetic about how impatient he is for Steve to get home, and hates how much he misses him now that Steve is working full time again.

Bucky had come home from his first appointment with the therapist at the place Steve had recommended, feeling restless and unable to sit still. He’d popped a frozen pizza in the oven and taken a long shower while he waited for his dinner to be ready, then tried to distract himself with some reading but found that he couldn’t focus on the words, and watching TV wasn’t much better either. His hands kept twitching, drumming against his knees, tying and untying his ponytail constantly, until Bucky had come across a cooking show and had been inspired to do some baking to pass the time.

Bucky dips a pinkie finger into the frosting and licks it clean. He hums appreciatively; it tastes much better than he expected, since he doesn’t bake very often. In fact he remembers the last time was a couple of years ago –

He nearly breaks the wooden spatula he’s holding in his metal hand.

It’ll get worse before it gets better, Sam had told him when he’d greeted Bucky at the reception, and then said not to tell the therapist he said that, which had made Bucky chuckle. He’d decided he liked Sam, especially since the guy had been so helpful in getting him an appointment.

“I’m not doing you any special favours, don’t worry,” Sam had told him one day. “It’s only if I have to hear Steve whine about how worried he is, I’m gonna dump his ass and go find myself a new best friend, and let’s be honest, he’d be pretty lost without me.”

Bucky had grinned, partly because he found Sam’s charming smile contagious, and partly because a warm feeling had spread in his stomach at hearing that about Steve. He knew that Steve worried, he could tell, even if Steve thought he was being pretty good at hiding it. But _God_ , Steve cares so much about him –

The key turns in the door and Bucky snaps back into reality to find that he’s started smiling again, and the wooden spatula is on the counter, unharmed.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says with a tired smile as he pokes his head around the kitchen door, just for a moment before he disappears again.

Bucky tries to contain his grin while he unties the apron from around his waist and drops it on the kitchen counter before going to find Steve in the living room, sprawled on the armchair.

“You’re home early,” he comments. Half an hour isn’t much, but it seems like an eternity when you’re counting down the minutes.

“Slow night,” is all Steve’s says, in a voice that’s barely above a whisper. He has his head thrown back and his eyes closed. He’s clearly exhausted, but still finds the energy to ask. “How was your day?”

“Good. Met my therapist today. She was nice.” He says, feeling a little awkward as he’s still hovering near the door, unsure whether to come closer to Steve, as if that will suddenly give him away.

“Yeah?” Steve beams at him, and Bucky can practically feel his heart swelling at the sight of that smile, all warmth and fondness and endless kindness. “That’s good, Buck, I’m proud of you for going through with it,” Steve says, and suddenly he’s on his feet, approaching Bucky, whose breath hitches in his throat when Steve reaches out and wraps himself around him.

Steve’s arms are strong and steady, a firm grasp around his back, holding him close. Bucky sighs as he puts both his arms around Steve’s neck and buries his face in the crook of the man’s neck. His mouth curls into an involuntary smile as he says, “You sap,”, but he melts into the embrace, feeling the tension ease off his shoulders and he thinks this is where he’s meant to be, right there in Steve’s arm, and fuck, the thought scares him just as much as it comforts him.

“I think I need a shower,” Steve whispers close to his ear.

Bucky pulls away, taking a step back. He crinkles his nose. “Yeah, you do. You stink. I’ve been holding my breath all this time.”

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t retaliate, instead turns on his heel and takes off, unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off as he disappears into the bathroom.

Bucky lets out a breath as he staggers into the kitchen to get his cupcakes out of the oven. His mind wanders while he sets them on the cooling rack and goes about storing the ones that are ready in airtight containers; his imagination runs wild as he thinks about Steve in the shower, picturing him standing naked under the hot shower stream. The temptation to go join him is a little hard to resist, as Bucky finds himself thinking how bad would it be really, and whether Steve would freak out or go along with it like he usually does when they cross yet another ‘How Physically Close Can You Get With Your Roommate Before It Becomes Gay’ boundary.

The tension starts creeping back into his body slowly, and Bucky catches himself tapping his metallic fingers against the kitchen counter and chewing on his bottom lip before he becomes conscious of the feeling in his stomach. The thought is still lingering in his mind, and Bucky doesn’t want to act on his impulses, so he pulls out his phone and decides to text his voice of reason.

 _‘Keep it in your fucking pants,_ ’ is the reply he gets from Clint within minutes followed by another text that says, _‘Or just go for it if it means you’ll stop texting me about him you fucking cockblock.’_

Bucky laughs and texts back, _‘If I’m not getting any, no one is getting any,’_

He doesn’t get a reply after that, but the impulse is gone and anxiety’s eased off somewhat. Bucky waits until he hears Steve’s bedroom door close shut, then waits five more minutes before he gets up and heads to his own bedroom.

 

~~

 

“You look at him like he hung the moon.”

Steve whips his head around to make sure Bucky is out of earshot, and sighs in relief when he finds that the man has already left the coffee shop. He turns back in his chair and covers his face in embarrassment. “Is it that obvious?” he says, voice muffled.

Natasha’s eyes soften. “How long has this been going on?”

“Spring break.” Steve shrugs. “Maybe longer, I don’t even know.”

She picks up her iced latte and takes a sip. “Have you considered, I don’t know,” Nat gives him a casual shrug. “Telling him maybe?”

“Yeah, and ruin everything,”

The corner of her mouth quirks up into a lopsided smirk. “How do you know you’d ruin everything? What if he feels the same way?”

Steve shakes his head in response, and the subject drops, but the words _‘what if he feels the same way’_ float around in his head for the next few days.

It distracts him during work, while he’s trying to focus on a book, and even when he’s working on a still life commission; painting always had a way of quieting his thoughts and letting him relax and forget about his worries, but not about this.

There are facts that he can’t ignore. He’d asked Bucky to sleep with him once when he was sick and not thinking straight – pun unintended – and not only had Bucky been undisturbed at the idea, but had in fact been the one to seek Steve’s company in the same way one night not too long ago. No matter how close they’d become as friends, the physical intimacy they shared had become less friendly and more – more like –

Steve’s thoughts come to a halt as he catches himself absentmindedly running his fingers through Bucky’s hair, while the man is lying on the couch with his head in Steve’s lap. Bucky’s attention is on the television, catching up on the latest episodes of _New Girl_ while Steve’s trying to finish the last chapters of _A Dance with Dragons._

Bucky turns his head and looks up at Steve. There’s a faint smile playing on his lips. “Do you mind if I sleep on your floor tonight?”

Steve smiles because he knows what Bucky is actually asking. He nods, saying, “Yeah, sure,” in response to the question. “Bad day?” he says, his fingers still buried in Bucky’s long hair.

Bucky sits up then, tucking his feet next to him and simply says, “No,” before returning his attention back to the TV.

Heart drumming his chest, and butterflies fluttering in his stomach, Steve feels caught up somewhere in between anxiety and excitement when he makes the decision to finally tell Bucky.

Where would he begin? Steve wants to tell Bucky that he makes him feel complete in a way Steve hasn’t felt in a long time; that seeing Bucky after a long day feels like coming home when the word has been a foreign concept to Steve since he lost his mother.

Or maybe just, ‘I really like you, do you want to maybe try going on a date sometime?’ for a start.

He knows he’s going out on a limb, basing the whole of his confidence on something Natasha had told him over a week ago. He knows it’s silly, and if he had admitted it to her she would’ve smacked him around the head, but Steve had never considered the possibility that his feelings would be reciprocated. Now, the more he’d thought about it, the less impossible it seemed. There’s something there, Steve can feel it, and even if Bucky’s not as head over heels for him as he is for Bucky, if there’s a tiny little bit of _something_ there –

Steve’s not paying attention to his book anymore, simply staring at words that make so little sense they might as well be in a foreign language, so he instantly notices when Bucky tears his eyes away from the screen and looks at Steve instead. He takes a deep breath and very slowly he turns his head to meet Bucky’s gaze, which keeps switching from Steve’s eyes to his mouth and vice versa, and then out of nowhere Bucky’s leaning in and _fuck_ , _he’s not ready for this –_

Steve’s phone starts ringing, the loud sound of erupting in the silence of the room.

The moment is ruined.

Steve sighs as he reaches out and picks up the phone, sliding to answer the call before even checking the caller ID.

“Steve! Have I got the news for you! Got a moment?”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Stark? I mean, Tony?”

“The one and only.”

Steve breaths out a long sigh as Tony starts rambling on. There’s no point in telling him he’s busy with something and can’t really talk, because Bucky’s leaning towards the opposite end of the couch now, switching between the channels for something else to watch.

Steve gets up and starts pacing in the room, pinching the bridge of his nose as he listens to things he doesn’t fully understand, and can’t really find the energy to care about. Mostly he wonders how it's possible for him to be so goddamn unlucky.

Tony hangs up after ten long minutes and tells Steve he’ll text him to arrange a meeting – for what, Steve is still unsure.

The moment has completely passed, Steve thinks as he drops on the couch with a heavy sigh, and then his heart starts racing as he realises _there was a moment to begin with._

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update! (this is my second attempt at posting the chapter tonight???). i'll try to post the last chapter soon. thanks for sticking around and for all your lovely comments :)

****

 

Steve closes the door behind him and turns to see Bucky’s hovering near the hallway door, awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot.

“Who was that?” Bucky’s asking him, his hands fiddling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants, momentarily inviting the blonde’s attention to them.

“Uh, wrong door.” Steve mumbles, and Bucky nods in response.

It’s there, hanging heavy in the air between them, silently asking to be acknowledged, and neither of them is brave enough to make the first move. They haven’t said a word to each other since their almost-kiss and the horrible interruption the night before, and there’s a new kind of awkward tension pushing them apart and simultaneously pulling them close together.

“Buck, I-”

“I didn’t-”

They both stop mid-sentence and smile at each other, and Steve motions at him to continue.

“Just wasn’t sure if we were expecting company or something.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, no. Delivery guy got the wrong door.”

Bucky takes a step forward, walking towards Steve. “Where was he from?”

“Sal’s pizza, I think.”

“And you told him he has the wrong door? Oh, Steve, oh no,” Bucky’s shaking his head, grinning widely while he mocks his roommate. “We could’ve just kept it!”

Steve rolls his eyes. He takes a step toward him. “That would be stealing, technically.”

“And stealing is bad.”

“Yes, Bucky, it’s illegal.”

They’re gravitating towards each other, now standing only a few feet away in the small space near the front door. Bucky takes the final step just as Steve does, and they meet in the distance between them disappears.

Bucky is smiling again, and Steve can almost read his mind; he knows what’s happening, but he is still not ready for it when Bucky finally leans in and presses his mouth against Steve’s, whose breath catches in his throat at the first contact of Bucky’s soft, warm lips slotting perfectly between his own. Steve’s eyes flutter shut when Bucky cups his cheek, and when their noses brush as they kiss, he smiles against Bucky’s mouth.

“I’m so in love with you,” Bucky blurts out when he pulls away, a slow smile curving his mouth.

All the air is knocked out of Steve’s lungs. His heart is racing in his chest and he feels a little dizzy, but he can’t stop smiling. “Re-really?” he asks and gets a nod in response.

“I wanted to tell you the same thing last night,” Steve says, and he doesn’t waste a moment more before he surges forward to bring their mouths together again in a desperate kiss.

Bucky starts grinning from ear to ear as his back hits the wall. “Well, I beat you to it,” he teases.

Steve breaths out a faint laugh. “I don’t care if you beat me to it,” he says in a quiet tone of voice, baring the truth in front of Bucky, because fuck if he’s not gonna be completely honest with Bucky at this point.

Bucky pulls Steve close to kiss him again as he sneaks his hand under the fabric of Steve’s t-shirt, caressing the man’s hipbone with his thumb. Steve breaks the kiss for a moment and raises his arms, allowing Bucky to remove his t-shirt. The rest of their clothes are discarded in a hurry, thrown away left and right as they make their way down the hallway and into Steve’s bedroom.

“Fuck,” Steve breaths as he takes in the sight of Bucky, standing completely naked in front of him.

Bucky grins as he blushes. “Are we really doing this?”

“Doing what, Buck?” Steve asks as he steps closer, snakes his arms around the man’s waist and presses their bodies close, biting down a moan as their erections rub together.

Bucky groans. “You know what,” he says and curses when Steve presses his lips on the bare skin of his neck, a spot just under his ear that drives him crazy.

“Mm,” Steve hums close to his ear. “Having sex? Yes. Yes, we are.” He lifts his head to meet Bucky in the eye. “You want to, right?”

The look in Bucky’s eyes is just _sinful_ as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and the sight makes Steve curse under his breath. “Yeah,” Bucky whispers, grabs Steve’s neck and crashes their mouths together.

They fall together on the bed, a mess of limbs as they continue kissing, long and slow. Steve climbs on top of the man, aligning their bodies together. His hand curl in the brunet’s long hair, tugging at it lightly, and Bucky drops his head back, sighing. Steve’s mouth lands on the exposed skin of his neck, pressing the faintest hint of a kiss there, before continuing a trail of pecks and gentle bites down his neck, collarbone, and his chest.

“You’re taking your fucking time.”

Steve grins at him, eyes glinting. “Yeah.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, and before Steve can make another move, he finds himself on his back, being straddled by Bucky’s strong thighs. “Teach you to be cocky,” he says as he pins Steve’s hands above his head and grinds his hips in a quick movement that has Steve moaning.

Next thing Steve knows, Bucky’s head is between his legs, his metal arm wrapped around his thigh, holding him in place while Bucky’s flesh hand is a firm grasp on his dick, stroking him up and down. Then Bucky’s giving him a sly grin, and opening his mouth and Steve swears he’s seeing stars. It’s nothing like he imagined – because he had, more times than he’d be willing to admit, pictured Bucky doing this, but his fantasies were nothing compared to the sheer, unadulterated enthusiasm with which Bucky is working his magic on Steve, his tongue, mouth, and hands working in perfect coordination.

Steve’s moaning and writhing on the bed, struggling to keep his hips still as Bucky slides his tongue up and down, along the slit and over the head, then swallows Steve’s cock down whole again. It feels so good, so good in Bucky’s wet, hot mouth and then –

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m-” Steve gasps and then he’s coming hard, spilling into Bucky’s mouth.

He’s breathless when Bucky climbs up and lies down next to him, watching him with a smug smirk on his face.

“Oh, fuck you,” Steve turns his head to kiss the smirk off of Bucky’s face.

Bucky chuckles when they pull away. “Okay,” he says with a shrug then raises his eyebrows at Steve, who breaks into a grin when he catches on, and immediately starts climbing on top of Bucky.

“So,” Bucky licks his lips. “D’you still have that emergency condom of yours?”

 

~~

 

They lie in bed next to each other, sweaty and breathless and barely covered by the sheets. Bucky is on his back near the edge of the bed, with Steve’s body half-draped over his.

“Wow,” Steve says breathlessly, voice muffled in the crook of Bucky’s neck where he’s buried his face.

“You can say that again,” Bucky agrees, equally breathless and heart still racing in his chest. “Can’t believe we spent all that time fighting when we could’ve been doing this instead.”

“I did want to jump you the moment I laid eyes on you,” Steve admits, smiling sheepishly.

“Yeah, me too.”

“You hated me from the first day you moved in.”

“Nuh uh,”

“Yuh huh,” Steve says in a mocking voice.

Bucky grins at him. “And you didn’t hate me?”

Steve gives him a one-arm shrug and Bucky laughs, happy and light-hearted.

“Who cares, I like you now.”

“Good.” Steve leans over to kiss him on the cheek. “I like you, too.”

“Well, phew, that’s a relief,” Bucky says sarcastically.

They lie in silence for a while, before Steve licks his lips and speaks up again. “It’s gonna be weird living together now, isn’t it?”

“Why would it be weird?” Bucky frowns at him. “We were practically dating anyway.”

Steve hums for a second, considering it. “Dating, huh?” He pulls away and rolls over, turning to lie on his side facing the wall, and Bucky turns too, instantly missing the contact and curls around Steve.

He presses his lips on Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah, dating. You’re my _boyfriend_ now, Stevie.”

Steve smiles, and God, he can’t seem to stop smiling anymore. “I like the sound of that.”

 

~~

 

“So here’s my deal, either you’re gonna get your shit together and tell your roommate how you feel, or I’m gonna set you up on a date with a friend of mine for tomorrow night,” Natasha says with no preamble, when Steve picks up the phone.

Steve blinks, confused. It had been about a month since the last time Natasha had tried to set him up with someone, and Steve wonders why she’s suddenly so determined to set him up again – she couldn’t have figured it out that he and Bucky had hooked up, could she have?

“Um,” he stammers. “I can’t. I have a date.”

There’s a moment of silence before Natasha speaks up again. “With who?”

Steve rubs his neck for a second as he thinks about his response. Bucky wanted to tell their friends in person together. “Uh, I can’t really say.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying, I really am seeing someone,” Steve tries to keep his tone casual, hoping she won’t be able to tell that he’s lying. Technically, he’s not; he’s already dating Bucky even if they haven’t gone on their first official date yet. “I’ll tell you all about it when I see you, okay?”

They hang up and Steve looks at his phone for a minute before he unlocks it and texts Bucky.

_STEVE: Do you want to go out for dinner tomorrow night?_

_BUCKY: Why, I thought you’d never ask, Stevie *smiley face emoji* *shy face emoji*_

_STEVE: Well I kinda just told Natasha that I have a date and if she finds out I lied I’ll be in trouble_

_BUCKY: Wow, Steve, that’s so… romantic_

_BUCKY: Exactly how I imagined you would ask me out for the first time_

_BUCKY: I’m just so lucky_

Steve laughs and texts him a series of heart emoji in all the colours available.

 

~~

 

Bucky waits for his date outside the restaurant of their choice, a newly opened Italian place with dim lightning, a single rose on each table, and quiet music playing in the background. He’s dressed in dark denims and a light pink shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and is pacing back and forth a little away from the entrance so as not to block the way for any customers.

Steve shows up at eight o’clock on the dot, and Bucky can’t stop the grin that spreads on his face when he sees him. He’s wearing the denim blue shirt that suits him so nicely, and his hands are shoved in his pockets as he makes his way over to Bucky.

Steve stops a foot away from him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Bucky replies, grinning like an idiot.

“Shall we go in?”

The waitress shows them to their table, which is set in the far corner of the restaurant, and they talk about the food as they go through the menu and decide what to order. Bucky folds his hands on the table, giving Steve a mischievous grin.

“So, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Steve repeats, smiling brightly.

“So tell me about yourself, Steve.”

Steve laughs at that. “Really?”

“It’s our first date, isn’t it?” Bucky shrugs. “Play along.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Okay.” He looks around for a second, looking nervous and unsure how to begin, before he turns to look at Bucky. “I…uh…I have no idea what to say.”

Bucky covers his face with his palm, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing but fails and the laughter escapes his mouth.

“Come on, first dates are awful and awkward and I make a fool of myself every time.” Steve frowns at him, crossing his arms against his chest.

Bucky puts his hand palm up on the table, inviting Steve to take a hold of it and smiles when Steve obliges. “I’m sorry, I thought it would be fun.”

Steve smiles as he watches Bucky rubbing his thumb across the back of his hand. “I like that we know each other, though, that we’re not just two random strangers on a first date.”

“Yeah, me too.” Bucky grins. “Had we not got off on the wrong foot, this could’ve been our 5 month anniversary dinner.”

Steve groans in annoyance, though it’s mostly directed at himself. “Let’s just pretend that’s not true.”

By the end of the evening, Bucky thinks it’s the best date he’s ever been on. The meal is delicious and the atmosphere is pleasant and romantic. They stay there for hours, sharing dessert and ordering more wine. They stumble out near midnight (after leaving their waitress a generous tip), tipsy and giggling, and Steve pulls Bucky close to him, framing his face with his large hands and kissing him on the mouth. Bucky feels an excited flutter in his chest as they walk home hand in hand. Their clothes are discarded as soon as they get to their apartment, and they laugh as they kiss and fuck and kiss some more after, and fall asleep feeling sated and blissful, holding each other close, a mess of limbs tangled in the sheets.

 

~~

 

Natasha smirks when she sees them walking towards the group, a quick lopsided twist of her mouth and then it’s gone as she turns her attention to the cards in her hand. They’re sitting on a plaid blanket under a big tree with pink blossoms, and she’s teaching Sam and Clint how to play poker.

“Hey guys,” Steve says, smiling brightly.

Clint and Sam groan in unison when they turn and see Steve and Bucky standing in front of them, holding hands. They abandon their cards to dig out their pockets and hand a twenty dollar bill to Natasha, who can’t contained her smug grin at that point.

“The hell was that?” Bucky asks, frowning at the two men. “That’s not what I think it was, right?”

Steve sighs. “Of course our friends had a betting pool going,” he says, looking at Bucky with an expression of fond exasperation.

Bucky looks thoughtful for a moment. “Wait, so you two assholes bet against us?”

“Man, I thought you’d never do it,” Clint pouts as he glares at an ant that’s crawling all over his cards.

“So, who made the first move?” asks Sam, who also doesn’t look very happy.

“Me,” the couple reply simultaneously, then frown at each other.

“Uh, I’m the one who kissed you,” Bucky states in a self-assured, matter-of-fact tone of voice.

“No, you didn’t.” Steve argues, crossing his arms against his chest defensively. “You _almost_ kissed me, and then _I_ kissed you the next day.”

“Nuh huh, _I_ initiated it – _both_ times.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well the first time around, _I_ was about to tell you I liked you before you _tried_ to kiss me.”

“Right,” Bucky snorts sarcastically. “As if you would’ve _ever_ work up the courage to do it. You should be grateful I kissed you, Steve.” He says as he puts his hand on the blonde’s shoulder.

“Oh sure, you’re right, I’m forever indebted to you now.” Steve shrugs the hand off his shoulder and plops down on the blanket, reaching out for a soda can with a frown fixed on his eyebrows.

Natasha looks between him and Bucky, studying them for a moment before she leans back on her elbows and smiles as she says, “Well, I can see that this is gonna be really fun for all of us.”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the last chapter! major major thanks to all you lovely readers for sticking with me through this, for all your kudos and amazing comments! i appreciate it IMMENSELY! :D  
> and major thanks to my amazing beta [dena](http://stevegrntrogers.tumblr.com/) for all her help and support :)  
> again i forgot to mention: i made a [collage edit on tumblr ](http://steveandbucky.tumblr.com/post/129095266664) to go with this au!   
> enjoy! <3

****

Everything changes, and nothing does.

Bucky gets a summer job at the coffee shop where Peggy works after Natasha tells him about the vacancy there when she learns he’s looking for a job. His therapist, Dr. Clark, thinks it’s a good idea, and Bucky is a lot more enthusiastic when she gives her approval; not that he needed it, but he likes that they agree it’s better than him spending all his free time indoors doing nothing productive. He starts working five shifts a week and comes home grumpy and exhausted, and practically falls on top of Steve on the couch and starts whining about the asshole customers and their idiotic requests.

“This jerk had me remake his stupid mocha today. Wanna know why?” Bucky asks in a whiny voice as he kicks off his shoes. “Because he said I put the sugar-free syrup in it instead of the regular. And I kept telling him I did use the regular syrup, but he claimed I was lying because it tasted ‘fake-sweet, not real-sweet’ whatever the fuck that means.”

Steve can’t help but laugh out loud, and it makes Bucky let out a high-pitched whine and bury his face in Steve’s neck. “I fucking hate people.”

“Well, of course you’re gonna start hating people when you have to deal with customers all the time,” Steve says then, untying Bucky’s ponytail and running his fingers through the long hair. “You still like me, though, right?”

Bucky looks up and smiles. “I don’t know. You seem to be the ‘I’m always right’ type of customer.” He says and Steve rolls his eyes before he leans in and kisses him, relishing the bittersweet taste of espresso mixed with caramel syrup, then drags Bucky to the bathroom with him.

Bucky sighs when he sinks in the scorching hot water that fills the bathtub, surrounded by an abundance of bubbles that smell like jasmine and vanilla, and leans against Steve’s chest.

“I kinda see why you like this so much.”

“It’s really relaxing, isn’t it?” Steve murmurs close to Bucky’s ear, who lets his head drop back and rests it on Steve’s shoulder.

“Mm, yeah,” he sighs. “Doesn’t it get boring, sitting here for half an hour doing nothing?”

“Well,” Steve says, the corner of his mouth quirking up just a little as he runs his hands down Bucky’s chest. “We can always find something to do.”

“Hmm, like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,”

Bucky chuckles. “I can feel your boner on my back, Steve, you can drop the subtlety act,” he says as he turns around to face Steve. “Wow, are you actually blushing?”

“Shut up,” Steve says, fighting a smile and flicking water with his fingers. “It’s really hot in here.”

Bucky licks his lips deliberately before he leans forward and kisses Steve on the mouth, long and slow. “It’s about to get hotter,” he says with a playful waggle of his eyebrows that make Steve groan.

They stumble out of the bathroom much later, both dazed and exhausted and without even thinking twice Bucky follows Steve into Steve’s bedroom and they collapse on the bed. Bucky hadn’t slept in his own bed in weeks, but Steve wasn’t complaining. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, Bucky suddenly sat up on the bed, and it startled Steve into sitting up again; sharing a bed meant waking up every once in awhile when Bucky had another nightmare, though those were rare these days.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, almost automatically.

“Nothing,” Bucky turns his head to give him a smile and a peck on the lips before he rushes out with a hurried, “Be right back.”

When he does return, it’s with a cardboard box in his hands, which he deposits on the bed next to Steve and says, “Open it,” with a hesitant smile.

Steve frowns at it, confused; the box isn’t even wrapped, just taped shut… He wonders if it’s a present even though his birthday isn’t until next week. His mouth drops in a soft gasp when he opens the box, cutting the tape away with a pair of scissors and comes across something he’d never thought he’d see again.

“I think it looks almost the same as your old one,” Bucky says as he sits down near the foot of the bed.

Steve is blinking at the blue lamp that’s lying on top of S-shaped polystyrene, looking a little lost.

Bucky bites his lip. “I was feeling really guilty about breaking it… so I went looking for a replacement, and it took me months, I literally looked everywhere. And here it is. I know it’s not the same, but…”

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve whispers, and takes a deep breath, which he lets out in a broken sob and then out of nowhere he’s crying, covering his face with both hands as he loudly sobs. It’s been awhile since he’d broken down like that, Steve thinks, not since he’d gone to visit his mother’s grave last Christmas. But that’s the thing about grief; it never goes away completely.

“Steve, what’s wrong?” Bucky shifts closer to the man and wraps him in a hug, eyes open wide in confusion. “Did I upset you? I’m sorry if I upset you, Stevie. I thought you’d like it.”

“I do, Bucky, I do.” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s just I really miss her, and I’m tired, and this is so nice of you, I just…”

Bucky rubs his fingers in soothing circles on Steve’s back until the man finally calms down and wipes his tears away, letting out a small chuckle. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

“It was my mom’s, the lamp. I was devastated when-” Steve cuts himself off. “Doesn’t matter. Thank you for doing this.” He leans forward and places a soft kiss on Bucky’s cheek. “It means a lot.”

Bucky smiles a little while rubbing his thumb across Steve’s knuckles. “I would have liked to meet her,” he says.

“She would have liked you,” Steve says, smiling wistfully. “Let’s sleep, okay? It’s been a long day.”

Bucky nods and climbs into bed with Steve, who settles with his back against Bucky’s chest and sighs contentedly, relishing the comfort and warmth and security that comes with being spooned by Bucky.

 

~~

 

Steve comes home from his own summer job on a Thursday evening to find Bucky sitting on the floor of the living room, frowning as he tries to focus on sketching a picture of a bird sitting on tree branches. By the looks of it, it’s not going well, because the man is surrounded by a lot of papers which have been crumpled up and thrown away.

“Whatchu doin’ there, Buck?” Steve asks, settling on the couch as he examines the picture.

Bucky grunts in response. He hasn’t drawn in forever he thinks, not since school where he had mandatory art classes, and he’s not that great of an artist. The pencil tip keeps snapping and he keeps sharpening it, and there’s too many dark lines from where he’s tried to erase mistakes.

“Dr. Clark told me to find a new hobby. So I tried to draw, thought I might give it a try,” Bucky says as he sets the pencil down, crumples up the paper and tosses it aside. “I think drawing is _not_ gonna be my new hobby.”

“Well, at least you tried,” Steve jokes.

Bucky settles in the space next to him, and Steve wraps an arm around. “You could try baking again,” he says. “It was fun last time with the cupcakes, right?”

“Yeah, I liked it. Helped take my mind off things.” He pauses for a second, looking thoughtful before he speaks up again. “I stole some paper from your sketchbook, by the way.”

Steve hums noncommittally for a moment. “Wait,” he says, eyes widening. “Which sketchbook?”

Bucky smiles through a yawn. “The one you didn’t want me to find, I think.” He nudges Steve so he falls with his back on the couch and cuddles closer to him. “Very interesting drawings in there, Steve, very interesting indeed.”

Steve blushes, knowing full well that there were at least three hurried portraits of Bucky in there; one when he’d fallen asleep on the couch, one when he was crouched over a textbook, studying for exams, and another when Bucky had just come out of the shower, with a towel hanging low on his hips.

Bucky teases him for that third portrait relentlessly, and Steve blushes and argues that it was all Bucky’s doing, tempting him by walking around like that after his showers. At some point Steve also mentions that it had taken him weeks to finish the picture because Bucky kept disappearing very quickly after only giving him a sneak peek, and he’d struggled to get the prosthetic arm details right.

Bucky looks at him for a long moment then, expression unreadable until a small smile appears on his face. “I could sit for you. To draw me, I mean. If you want.”

Steve’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. “Really? You’d be okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “I’d rather know that you’re drawing me than you doing it sneakily.”

Steve looks bashful then, but before he can stammer out an apology, Bucky beats him to it. “Steve, it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’m flattered.” He reaches out and links their hands together. “I’m just saying, if I know you’re gonna draw me I’ll make sure to look extra-dashing,” he says with a wink.

Steve hums for a moment. “Can I use my paints?”

“Won’t that take longer?”

Steve looks sheepish when he says, “Yes,” but then he’s giving Bucky the best puppy-dog eyes he can manage and Bucky gives in with an exaggerated groan.

 

~~

 

Bucky never picks up another pencil with the intention of drawing after that, but he does start baking a lot more, especially on his bad days, and that becomes his new hobby. He finds that he feels a lot better after he spends a couple of hours in the kitchen trying out new recipes. Dr. Clark calls it ‘therapeutic’.

And along come the chocolate cupcakes, blueberry muffins, apple pies and peanut butter cookies – Bucky’s all-time favourite treats from his childhood – until he discovers colourful macaroons, caramel éclairs, cinnamon rolls and fruit tarts. Steve admits he’s okay with the kitchen being in a permanent state of chaos, with flour and eggs and a variety of ingredients all over the place, only because everything Bucky makes is so delicious that at every first bite Steve closes his eyes and imagines he’s in heaven. He’s also resigned to giving out hundreds of Tupperware containers full of leftovers to their friends, neighbours and co-workers, beaming proudly when they return the containers and praise Bucky’s creations.

Then, when the baking gets out of hand (because they run out of containers more than anything else), Bucky takes a break from it and starts trying out his hand at cooking, making dinner for himself and Steve at least a few times each week. He tries out a new recipe each time, going from one cuisine to another. Steve loves the Italian phase the most, relishing in the wonderful pastas and risottos Bucky makes, and vowing to never again eat pizza that isn’t made by the loving hands of his boyfriend. They even have a movie night and invite all their friends over, who at first scorn at the idea of eating homemade pizza rather than getting takeout, but are so impressed by Bucky’s cooking that for the next few weeks they’re all practically begging for more movie nights at Steve and Bucky’s.

Steve says, “You should be doing this for a living,” around a mouthful of strawberry pie one day, and Bucky smiles at him, and simply says, “Maybe,” and lets the thought swim around in his head for a while before he makes the decision.

 

~~

 

“I got a phone call from my mom today,” Bucky tells Steve one evening when they’re sitting on the roof of their building, shoulders pressed together as they watch the sun disappearing behind the tall buildings over the city, colouring the sky in hues of orange and purple.

Steve hums in response, unsure what to say; Bucky doesn’t normally mention his family (or visit them, for that matter) and Steve has only brought up the matter once when Bucky had told him he wouldn’t be going home for the summer.

When Bucky sighs for the third time, Steve stretches out his arm, inviting Bucky to come closer to him, and Bucky happily obliges. “What’s on your mind?” Steve asks, poking Bucky’s cheek with his pointer finger.

“Nothing,” Bucky breathes out.

Steve continues poking his cheek until the brunet laughs and swats his hand away, telling him to ‘quit it’. A moment of silence passes before Steve speaks up, choosing his words carefully. “You sure? You know you can tell me anything, Bucky.” He says, dropping a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead.

“I know,” Bucky looks up, meeting Steve’s gaze. He pauses for a minute, hesitating, until he fumbles around in his pockets and pulls out his phone, browses in his gallery folders and finds the picture before handing his phone to Steve.

The picture is of Bucky, looking about eighteen, with short brown hair and a wide grin on his face as he stares at the camera. He has an arm – his left one, still flesh-and-bone – around a girl standing next to him, with hair that matches Bucky’s in style and colour, similar blue-grey eyes and a happy smile on her face.

“It’s me and my sister, Rebecca.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “You look very alike.”

Bucky shakes his head. “She was-” he stops and takes a shaky breath, tears forming in his eyes already. “She was with me in the car. The day of the accident. Next to me.”

“Oh,” Steve says again, much quieter this time. “Oh, Buck, I’m sorry,”

Bucky turns and falls into Steve’s arms as soon as the man puts a hand on his shoulder. Bucky feels his heartbeat increasing and he starts taking deep, carefully measured breaths, while Steve rubs his back soothingly, using his touch to ground him, and the panic slowly passes before it gets out of hand.

“She’s been in a coma since the accident.”

“How long ago was it?” Steve asks, voice soft.

“About a year and half ago, in 2013. Around Christmas time.” Bucky says. “My mom called me today to tell me…they want to – they decided that it’s better – fuck, I can’t even say it, Steve.”

“I understand, it’s okay.” Steve gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“She wants me to be there to say goodbye to her.” Bucky draws in yet another deep breath. “And I want to go. I haven’t visited her since Christmas, haven’t really been home that much. After the accident, well… we were all in bad shape. I spent a year in rehab and when I went home… it was like everything had gone to shit, and Becca wasn’t there anymore, and it was just too much, you know?”

Steve nods like he does.

“Sorry to unload all this on you,” Bucky sighs then, turning a little to bury his head in the crook of Steve’s neck.

“It’s okay, Buck. I’m glad you told me.”

“Kinda wanted to ask if you’d like to come with me. I mean, come with me when I go home, not with me to the hospital.”

“Sure,” Steve smiles and drops a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. “I’d love to meet your parents.”

Bucky groans. “It’s gonna be really awkward.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve gives him a one-shoulder shrug. “But I’ll be there to make things even more uncomfortable.”

Bucky laughs then, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Thanks,” he grins up at Steve. “There’s something else I wanna tell you. Completely different.”

“Hmm?”

Bucky bites his lip. “Promise you won’t be disappointed?”

“’Course not.”

Bucky nods. “I don’t think I’m gonna continue college,” he says and pauses, watching for Steve’s reaction, but Steve is just waiting for him to continue. “When I started in first year I had told myself if I got to third year and I still couldn’t pick a major I’d just drop out and find a job somewhere. But I think I know what I actually want to do.”

Steve’s eyes widen a little. “Yeah? What do you want to do?”

“Culinary school?” Bucky asks, smiling hesitantly. “Maybe enrol in a course or do an apprenticeship or something.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You think I can do it?”

“Definitely,” Steve grins at him, all bright and positive. “And why would I be disappointed? Means you’ll be learning all the tricks and secrets, and then cooking and baking for me _all the time_.” He says as he slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulling him close.

“Yeah, there’s no end to your appetite is there?”

“Nope,” Steve says as he leans down to kiss Bucky, who smiles against his mouth. “Especially not when it comes to you,” he says with a sly grin.

Bucky laughs out loud and pushes him away playfully. “That was terrible.”

Steve shrugs, trying to look innocent, and Bucky shakes his head fondly before he pulls Steve close to him and presses their mouths together again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all like the ending (read: i hope i havent fucked it up haha). as always, i'd love to hear what you think of it! :)  
> thanks for reading! <3


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